


If I had a Star

by SilverDragon42



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:00:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 45,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDragon42/pseuds/SilverDragon42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrown into the past only moments after his birth, James Tiberius Kirk has had a good life, an almost normal life save for his genius IQ. But fate, it seems, isn't willing to relinquish its favorite plaything quite yet. The strange dreams of the beautiful ship, brilliant white against the darkness of space, and her mysterious crew, their faces always hidden from him, have been a constant in his life since before he can remember. And it's impossible that the odd group he found bashed up on the side of the road could have anything to do with that. Right? They couldn't literally be the people of his dreams; could they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Started writing this on fanfiction.net, but since I've been here so much recently I'm hoping posting it here as well will keep it at the forefront of my mind so that I can finally finish this thing! Hope you like it. Thanks for reading (even just this far).

_“I love…”_

_George’s voice abruptly cut off and Winona felt a heart-wrenching sob escape her. Desperately she clutched at her child, her beautiful baby, the last of her George as the Kelvin disintegrated in a flash of bloody light against the hull of the enemy ship. For a long moment there was silence as the shuttles made their impulse power escapes. Something thunked heavily against the outer hull of the shuttle startling all its passengers. It was quickly identified as a canister of some sort holding an unidentifiable substance inside. It bobbed away from the shuttle a bit before a tiny flame appeared behind the glass of the canister. No one saw, too concerned with catching up to the rest of the group or attempting to assist Mrs. Kirk. The minuscule amount of Red Matter ignited shattering the canister and immediately creating a wormhole that drew the main shuttle George Kirk had died to save into its maw sending it and all its passengers tumbling into the past._

 

_Mr. and Mrs. Jack and Christina Parker had lived on their farm in Riverside Iowa for the past 35 years. They kept to themselves and quietly grew their corn, treating the extensive fields as the children they had never been able to have. Every evening they sat together on the back porch, watching the chartreuse stalks fade to emerald in the dying light. Wrapped in woolen blanket, they leaned against each other on the gently creaking swing; Jack running an absentminded hand through Christina’s fading hair. The sun sunk quickly, as it always did this time of year, and as his wife’s breathing evened into sleep Jack let his eyes slipped closed for just a moment feeling at peace with the world._

_Several hours later Jack jerked awake, his gentle sleep disturbed by something he couldn’t explain. A white light had flashed across the inside of his eyelids, and even his pupils seemed to believe it was real as they struggled to adjust to the thick darkness. For a couple long minutes he stared in the direction of the fields attempting to discern an explanation, none was forthcoming. Christina shifted uneasily against his stomach and he was ready to dismiss the whole thing as an odd dream when something flashed out of the corner of his eye. Resigned he shook Christina gently, until her eyes fluttered open, and propped her up against the arm of the swing._

_“Jack?” She questioned sleepily as he leaned inside briefly to grab a flashlight off the table in the hall. Flicking it on and off quickly to test the batteries, he stepped back onto the porch a shiver running down his spine at the chill._

_“Just wait there Chrissie, or go on and head up to bed. I just wanna check something. Thought I saw something in the field.” He laughed self-deprecatingly, “Probably just my eyes playing tricks on me.” She was unimpressed and swung her legs off the swing to follow. Sighing he held out his arm and they made their way down the porch steps and into the sea of corn._

_Jack had a vague idea of where he thought he’d seen the light and they headed in that direction, but it didn’t take long before Jack was convinced he was being an idiot. He should’ve known she’d want to come if he told her. What kind of man was he, dragging his wife around a cornfield in the middle of the night?! Disgusted with himself, Jack opened his mouth to apologize and say they should head back to the house and if anything was there it would either be there in the morning, or wasn’t worth the time. Christina froze as he began to speak, her entire frame going tense. Before Jack could form the words to inquire as to what was wrong, she was gone._

_“Faster than a speeding bullet” may have been an accurate description, if any bullet could have caught her. She moved, quite literally it seemed,_ through _the stalks, barely even leaving a swaying trail for Jack to follow. By the time he caught her he was panting hard and the sight that greeted him only served to worsen that condition. Christina’s back was to him kneeling at the edge of a twisted hunk of metal that had crushed a path through his corn over ten meters long. Twisting his eyes from the gaping hole, to his wife, and back again, Jack moved slowly forward only to gasp and jerk back at the sight over Christina’s shoulder._

_The woman had once been lovely, Jack could see pale blonde through the rapidly drying blood, but now deep angry cuts marred her skin and from beneath her ribs protruded something thick, sharp, and bloody. She was whispering brokenly to Christina, but from the way her legs lay limp and the wide, but no longer spreading, puddle beneath her Jack had a sinking feeling they’d arrived in time to hear her final words._

_Christina had brushed the quiet cry off as her sleep-muddled imagination, the first time. When she heard it again, louder, and a third time, the strongest of all, she couldn’t ignore it. Her imagination or not, the idea that a family might have crashed their car on the edge of their field and now the parents were unconscious and the baby hurt, or any version of that scenario, filled her with dread. Without a second thought she took off through the corn, and though she didn’t hear the cry again something told her she was going the right way. One part of her mind flinched guiltily at the realization she’d just run off from Jack, but Christina’s deeper instincts told her that Jack could take care of himself, the child whose cry she’d heard couldn’t. She didn’t even pause at the edge of the newly-made clearing because the moment the last stalk had swung out of her way, her eyes had found the woman’s form in the wreckage and the tiny bundled she clutched with one hand even as she pulled desperately at a tangled mass of sparking wires with the other._

_When Christina was halfway toward her, the woman apparently succeeded in whatever she had been attempting to do because her arm dropped down to join the other and a pitiful smile appeared on her face even as the tears flowed harder. Christina knelt down beside her head and the woman turned brilliant blue eyes on her. For a minute she forgot how to speak then the baby cooed gently breaking her from her stupor._

_“My name is Christina Parker. My husband’s not far behind me, we’ll call an ambulance as soon as…” She trailed off as the woman shook her head slightly wincing at the pain. “Ok, no ambulance.” Christina amended and the smile returned slightly._

_“Winona.” She croaked in a sound that was less than a whisper. Her arms moved showing Christina the unblemished face of a newborn babe swaddled in a cloth she couldn’t identify. “James…. Ti…bier…ius… Kirk.” She insisted relaxing slightly when Christina nodded. The weak movement as she pulled the boy back to her chest drew Christina’s eyes to her midsection drawing out a despairing gasp. Winona only closed her eyes and pulled tiny James to where she could place a gentle kiss on his forehead._

_“Where are you from?” Christina asked eyeing the twisted metal around them. The piercing blue orbs eyed her for a moment before heavy lids covered them again._

_“The future.” She admitted nearly silently, and Christina nodded not only unwilling to upset a dying woman, but truly believing what she said. If the odd method of arrival hadn’t been enough, it would only take one look at the twisted metal around them to realize that either the government was hiding some very advanced technology from the people or they, to put it simply, weren’t from here. Winona’s next breath caught for a horrifying moment in her throat and she pushed the baby out toward Christina, who in the back of her mind registered that Jack had finally caught up._

_“Please, take him.” Eyes wide Christina didn’t move for a moment until Winona coughed and her voice turned desperate. “Please, Please.” Carefully Christina cradled the tiny blonde head and pulled the light body onto her lap. “Give… this” She gestured toward her neck where an unusual metal pendant hung on a thin black cord. Christina unclasped it and as she lifted it away carried Winona’s hand with her to lay it on the boy’s head. She sighed peacefully. “Thank…” The hand fell away and lay limp atop the crushed corn stalks._

_Jack placed a hesitant hand on Christina’s shoulder. She shifted beneath it and stood carefully before turning to face him. He couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised when she explained it all to him in solemn whispers as they walked steadily back to the house. The baby, James, watched them both with bright, intelligent eyes not a bump or bruise on him from the crash. Jack didn’t try to convince her not to keep him, knowing that had been a lost cause from the beginning, but he did suggest that they give him their last name, but Christina was adamant and he promised that first thing in the morning they would do whatever needed to be done to make James Tiberius Kirk part of their family._

_That night, or early the next morning, James began to cry for the first time, the sound breaking Christina from her light doze. Rocking slightly she drifted around the house until she came to a stop before one of the windows that looked out over the back fields and a tear slid down her cheek. James’s wails softened and finally faded, his eyelids drooping._

_“James.” She cooed down at him, smiling when he yawned widely one tiny fist wriggling in the air. “James.” She said again eyebrows furrowing together. “Jim.” Her voice was thoughtful. “What do you think of ‘Jim’?” She asked still rocking. Her head tilted up to the window. “Jim.”_

_Later that morning, just after dawn, Jack went back to see if he could hide or even destroy any of the evidence of the…whatever it was. When he arrived, however, it was gone. The only traces that anything had ever been there were the impossible baby and the flattened cornstalks._


	2. To the Earth

Mr. Scott, who, along with another hooded figure, had appeared mid-warp and somehow convinced acting captain Spock that rendezvousing with the fleet would lead to the destruction of not only Earth, but possibly several other planets, had successfully beamed both Spock and Captain Pike aboard the Enterprise, but Nero was still out there and very angry. There was no way the Enterprise could survive an attack from the Narada, but the red matter was quickly forming a black hole that neither of the ships could escape.

Passing Captain Pike off to a nurse waiting at the pad, Spock raced, in the most Vulcan way, up to the bridge. Immediately when he arrived he ordered a full evacuation of the ship. Nero’s tattooed faced flickered into view as a distracted Nyota watched him resist the urge to pace.

“Spock.” The Romulan growled, hate dripping from the word. “If you launch those shuttles I will destroy them.”

“Your ship will soon be destroyed in a black hole, there is no logical reason for you to continue to exact revenge, particularly since I shall not be onboard any of the shuttles.” Nero smiled cruelly as if he had expected that and the bridge crew drew in a collective breath.

“Ah, but you see I have nothing left to lose, and you do. So, I have a compromise for you.” Spock’s hands fisted behind his back, but his voice was calm when he spoke.

“Indeed.”

“Yes, you see,” Nero clapped his hands together like the madman he was, “I was thinking I’ve already taken your captain, so why not get the complete set.” He smirked as if privy to a joke none of them understood. “So, I will be perfectly happy to let all of the shuttles you want to launch go without any trace of a threat from me as long as you, and a few other people, simply remain on the bridge of the enterprise until I allow you to leave.” Spock was motionless.

“Whom else?” The stress was so great he wasn’t even speaking full sentences. Nero flashed another maniac grin and listed off five names. With an effort Spock turned his back to the vidscreen and addressed the crew. “Anyone whose name was not mentioned please exit the bridge quickly and calmly.” As they obeyed, he stepped to the captain’s chair and pressed the com system. “Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott to the bridge.” Within moments both stepped out of the turbolift and Spock began to speak, his voice emotionless.

“The criminal Nero has stated that he will trade our presence on the bridge for the lives of those escaping in the shuttles. It is against Starfleet regulations for me to order you to stay, and were it not I would not attempt to do so. I only ask that you make a decision quickly.” With that he folded himself gracefully into the captain’s chair. No one moved, and then Chekov, Sulu, and Uhura turned back from watching him to their stations focusing intently on the instruments. Mr. Scott strode stiffly to the engineering console and sat down. With a muttered “Damnit!” Dr. McCoy slumped into the seat at the science station.

Nero clapped again and everyone, but Spock flinched. “Excellent, the red matter should be forming the black hole very soon so everyone sit tight and…” He leered sinisterly. “Enjoy the ride.” His face disappeared from the screen, but the tension on the bridge did not ease. Chekov’s voice was the first to shatter the silence.

“All shuttles have launched and are outside the range of the black hole, sir.” Spock’s sigh of relief was almost audible.

“Thank you Mr. Chekov.” The young Russian genius turned back to his console his left hand curling into a tight fist atop the ebony surface. Sulu watched as the strain of bone against skin turned the already pale knuckles to an unnerving white. Turning his eyes back to his instruments he gently covered the quivering fist with his own palm no longer caring who could see because odds were high none of them would live to tell about this. Morbidly fascinated Hikaru watched as the distance between the Enterprise and the black hole grew shorter and shorter and as the seconds on the chronometer ticked away he debated letting everyone know how much time was left. A feeling, however, told him that counting down the time until what would probably be their demise would put him in pain before death, so he kept quiet maintaining a firm grip on Pavel’s hand. With only seconds left the thin fist jerked under his fingers and Pavel spoke up his voice incredulous.

“Keptin! Someone is beaming aboard zhe ship!” True to Chekov’s word, moments later the doors to the bridge swooshed open and Nero’s face appeared twisted by a maniacal grin. His men rushed in holding each of the Enterprise people at disruptor point. Nero’s grin twisted wider as two of his men grabbed the Vulcan and one held a disruptor to his side and the other to his head.

“Hello Spock.” The madman spoke. “Did you miss me?”

 

James Tiberius Kirk whistled lightly as he made his way through the parking garage flipping the keys to his recently purchased Kawasaki zx6r. Being a genius certainly had its perks. 20-years-old and working for NASA at one of their main laboratories, less than two hours from his parents’ house, both a plus and minus, with his own key to the building. He’d worked for a year and a half to get them to trust him with that last one, but it had paid off and made it so he was leaving now, about two hours after all the sane people were in bed and asleep.

“Jim, you know that you’re perfectly welcome to work on your projects after hours,” Dr. Grayson, his supervisor, had said after Jim had pulled three all-nighters in a row, “But you’re still a growing boy and sleep is necessary for human beings to continue functioning. Now unless you’re a robot, which no robot could drink the way you can without over-loading,” Jim had actually flinched a little at that one, still remembering the threats and promises he’d receive if he ever did that again, “you need to go home and bathe, and eat, and sleep in that order.” With that the man had literally shoved him from the building and threatened to take away his key if he ever did it again. Since then Jim had been very careful to keep track of the time, leaving around eleven and only coming back after he knew Jack had already arrived, which was around 6:00 so it wasn’t so bad.

Of those six hours between when he left and when he began to the hour-long trip back out, only between two and three were spent in sleep. Over the weekends he managed to get his hyperactive brain to settle down for almost five hours, but that was the limit for his sleep quota. If his mind wasn’t checking and rechecking calculations then the nightmares would come back. They shared the same theme, a madman with tattoos on his face in a claw-shaped spaceship attacking another spaceship with a plate on top. The man with the pointy ears would be frantically, he never looked frantic but Jim always knew he was frantic, giving orders but in the end the claw always shot out beams of light and the dinner-plate spaceship exploded waking Jim in a cold sweat with tears running down his face and feeling like he was desperately searching for something without knowing what.

Shaking his head Jim tugged the helmet, blue to match his bike, over his ears and tightened the chip strap. No matter what kind of descriptions he gave the events, the dreams and the memory of them never failed to send a shiver down his spine. Then there was the other dream. The thought of that one had Jim’s chest tightening. There were no real pictures to it. Some brief flashes of light, a blurry face here or there. No, it was mostly sound. The sound of voices, two of the inherently familiar one close and strong the other tinny and weak, the sound of sobbing, of screaming, metal twisting and breaking, accompanied by more flashes of light, silence, that familiar voice again and then a strange one. Finally it ended with the feeling of strong arms around him, someone telling him it would all be ok, and an unidentifiable sense of loss.

When he was younger his parents had told him that amazingly, he was only minutes old at the time, the second nightmare was a memory of the accident that had killed his parents. They had also said that in time he would grow out of both of them. When, by the age of 12, the nightmares had not stopped, he quit alerting them. He was being a baby running to his parents just because of a stupid dream, and so he had suffered in silence from then on.

Now the dreams made him practically an insomniac, but Jim had long ago trained himself to survive on less sleep and no one was really the wiser. The sudden roar of his motorcycle was a comforting break from the silence that had become oppressive with the onset of his morbid thoughts and a Jim steered the bike out of the garage he forced himself to think about other things, at least for the duration of the long, dark ride back to his house.

There that was a good distraction. Think about the house and how ridiculous his parents were for buying it for him. The four-bedroom farmhouse was about ten minutes outside of Riverside, on the opposite side from his parent’s home, and surrounded by trees and shrubbery of different kinds so as to shield it from the rare passer-by. When Jim had first seen the house he’d been under the impression that his mother and father, really ‘adoptive’ but he didn’t know the others, wanted his opinion on them moving out there. Truthfully, Jim had fallen in love with the house the moment he’d seen it, and he’d told them so. Seeing as his birthday had been week ago, there had been nothing to suggest to him that they had already made the down payment and the first three payments for him as a birthday present until his mother sprung it on him her pale blue eyes twinkling happily.

After several long speechless seconds Jim had gone off on a rant the likes of which the world had never seen before. And yet his parents remained unimpressed smirking in that irritating way that only parents can pull off. They allayed each of his objections until he was simply repeating the words “It’s too big”. They had then claimed it was incentive for him to stay in the town near them instead of in the dorms by the NASA facility, which they knew all too well he was going to do any way. Jim had then seceded into grumbling and, in an attempt to salvage some of his manly pride, had not let his parents leave before eliciting a promise that they would let him finish paying for the house. They had finally surrendered, but Jim swore he could hear his mother whispering as they climbed into the truck.

“I told you we should have waited until it was paid for before telling him.”

That had been three years ago, when he first started working for NASA, now, with his impressive salary, again being a ‘child’ genius certainly had its perks, and the fact that he was a single man the house was all but paid for and James T. Kirk was well on his way to being a rich man.

Jim shook his head and twisted the throttle back a little bit more, pushing the speed limit several miles more than usual. He wasn’t exactly eager to go home to the empty house, but just didn’t want to be driving anymore and the distraction, while well contrived, couldn’t completely rid his mind of the nightmares. Jim sighed into his mouth guard. No way was he getting any sleep tonight.

Something in the one of the fields up ahead caught his eye. The stalks of corn were shaking as if someone was moving through them. Jim frowned slowing the bike slightly. He knew these fields, they belonged to a huge corporation and the manager was a crotchety old man who’d just as soon shoot you as look at you. Not even the local teenagers played pranks out here and no one would be working at this time of night, even with the full moon.

As Jim approached, whatever had been shaking the stalks all but collapsed out onto the road. Even from a distance he could tell it was a group of people, though what they could be up to he couldn’t even fathom. Not wanting to blind them, and ignoring the little part of his mind that was muttering about how much of a bad idea this was, Jim dimmed the headlight and pulled up behind the group on the side of the road. They froze and turned to stare at him with wide eyes. Each of them had on an outfit of an unusual material and though most were different colors, they all looked oddly similar. Jim wondered briefly if they were part of some cult, and, still ignoring the misgivings of his mind, let the roar of the engine fade to silence, before pulling off his helmet and stepping off the motorcycle so he could set it on the seat.

No one spoke, and the silence quickly grew uncomfortable. Carefully Jim took a step forward holding his arms slightly out to his sides palms facing the strangers because they all still looked like a herd of dear about to bolt. When no one reacted, hell it didn’t look like any of them were breathing, Jim couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Uh, hi. I’m Jim.” Nothing. “Ya’ll look a little lost; you need some help getting to town, or what passes as one around here?” He smiled a little, and could’ve sworn he saw the lips of the youngest one twitch, but overall there was still a whole lot of nothing. Then, suddenly the group parted, like the Red Sea before Moses, and another person stepped out of the corn field emerging, almost dramatically from the shadows of the stalks. When he finally stepped into the full light of the moon Jim could barely keep his mouth from dropping in shock. Some cosmic being floating around up there must be having a real good laugh at his expense because there was no _way_ , no way, what he was seeing could be possible.

It was the man from his dreams, the man who captained the ship whose loss he always felt so profoundly.

The man with the pointed ears.


	3. Into the Night

The group shifted closed again behind the man from Jim’s dreams, not in a good way unfortunately, and he stood tall beneath the pale moonlight that highlighted his aristocratic cheekbones and cast his dark eyes into shadow. It danced along the odd points of his ears and shone off each primly straight, ebony strand that Jim’s fingers twitched to run through. Slowly his eyes and his mind caught up with each other and he realized he was being spoken too. Hoping he hadn’t been obvious in his all but drooling, Jim forced his ears to work.

“And although your offer is appreciated, we are not in need of your assistance, thank you.” Jim quirked a disbelieving eyebrow, something he’d seen on TV and practiced years to perfect. One of the group twitched, a man wearing red with dark hair, and Jim noticed that blood was running along the arm that he held close to his body. Then he saw that most of them looked worse for wear and even the leader had a dark shadow along one side of his face.

“Really?” Jim asked making sure his skepticism was clear. “Where exactly do you plan on going then? None of you seem in be in prime condition and sorry buddy but no matter what kind of strange trends have come around in plastic surgery the past few years, there’s no way any of the small towns around here are gonna accept those ears.” They all stiffened and Jim admitted that he could have phrased that a little more sensitively, but instead of withdrawing his statement he stared into guarded eyes, wondering briefly why he cared so much. Jim won, in a way. Instead of looking away the man almost visibly deflated and flicked his eyes over Jim’s shoulder to his motorcycle. Noticing it and its two passenger limit he perked up again and one eyebrow disappeared into his hairline.

“Do you intend to transport us all on that vehicle?” Jim, fuming silently about that fact that his eyebrow quirk had just been beaten into the ground, took a moment to answer and glanced back at the bike.

“Nah, I’ll probably just grab the pick-up from my parent’s house and come back and get ya’ll in that.” They all blinked in simultaneous confusion, except for one, a man in blue, who looked interested in the conversation for the first time.

“What kinda truck you got?” He asked a heavy southern drawl permeating the words. The rest of them seemed to understand because they all looked to the speaker expectantly waiting for his reaction to Jim’s answer.

“F-250.” Jim hoped that would be sufficient information, but the drawl continued.

“What year?” Jim flinched a little, that was the very question he hadn’t wanted to hear.

“It’s a 2013.” He answered defensively. An eyebrow quirked and Jim huffed at it and began a familiar tirade. “Yeah, its old, but it runs better now than it did when it was new, and we’ve kept it nice. Besides the things only 15 years…” He was cut off.

“Whoa kid slow down. I was just curious and besides, it sounds like a damn good truck.” Jim exhaled his rant. “But I got another question. Now this ain’t to be rude or nothin, but how do we know that you’re not just gonna tell us you’ll be back and just decide not to come back when you hit the town.” Jim nodded, he wasn’t insulted, it was a valid question. He thought for a minute.

“Alright, how bout this. Whoever’s the least beat up and feels like they could take me can ride with me to the house to make sure that I come back and if I decide a don’t wanna they can just beat me up and bring the truck back themselves.” They all looked rather stunned and Jim smirked a little at putting that expression on their faces. The pointy-eared man, whom Jim had been avoiding looking at with all his might, turned and inquired something in a whisper. Jim did his best to look like he wasn’t listening and eavesdrop at the same time.

Unfortunately he didn’t catch much except another a couple more accents, from whom he couldn’t identify, and several muffled “damnits” which he had an odd feeling came from the country man who’d asked about the truck. Finally the huddle ended and Jim looked up expectantly for the verdict. To his well-concealed horror, and even more concealed pleasure, the leader stepped forward.

“I shall accompany you in order to ascertain that you do not intend to trick us.” Jim noticed his mouth didn’t say anything about the horribly brutal beating Jim would be on the wrong end of is he tried, but his eyes sure did. Jim actually shivered before forcing himself to adopt an unaffected façade.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road.” He snatched the helmet up and held it out to his future passenger. The disgusted look made Jim sigh. “Look, I don’t care if it grosses you out, or how hard your head may be. This is a tiny town and while we may not get into Riverside proper this trip, better to be safe than sorry. Cause one of these gossip mongers getting a load of those ears would be worse than them seeing a guy on the back of my bike.” He grimaced and muttered, “Not that they don’t think I’m a promiscuous bastard anyway.” The helmet was gingerly taken and Jim straddled the bike and started it up. “Hey, do I get a name before people think we’re sleeping together.”

The smirk could not be concealed when he completely froze in the process of mounting the motorcycle. For a second nothing happened, then he slid on behind Jim keeping as much space between them as the seat would allow and answer the question his breath hot against the back of Jim’s exposed neck.

“I am Spock.” Jim struggled against a shiver and decided that when in this man’s presence he should just keep up a mental mantra of “that didn’t affect me, that didn’t affect me, that didn’t affect me.”

“Well Spock,” Jim responded twisting the throttle so the bike revved loudly, “you might wanna hang on!”

Then he popped the clutch.


	4. Home is where the Heart is

Leonard was both impressed and exasperated by the kid’s guts, pulling that wheelie so Spock would hold onto him. Though why anyone would want that green-blooded computer any closer than absolutely necessary was beyond him. Then again the kid couldn’t know that Spock had inhuman strength and could most likely, without a conscious thought, squeeze that skinny body in half.

As the antique, and yet not antique vehicle, faded from sight and hearing he gestured for the group to follow him back into the field, just in case someone else happened to drive by. They didn’t need another do-gooder and they certainly didn’t need any trouble.

Speaking of which, Leonard grabbed Scott’s not bleeding arm and pulled him around while reaching into the med bag that Nero had let him keep. He had also left the doctor out of his sick torture game which was both good and awful. Good because he still hurt from the fight to sedate that old Vulcan who’d appeared when Scott had. Old bastard was determined to stay on the ship. Kept ranting about how he was Spock, and Nero really wanted him.

Awful, because they’d made him watch.

Chekov and Uhura they’d left mostly untouched, a few bruises here or there, but there had certainly been some leering which had made Leonard just as uncomfortable as when he watched them bring their fists and whatever else they could find onto Scott, Sulu, and Spock. He felt the bruises on his arms twinge reminding him of their cruel fingers digging into him as he had thrown dignity to the wind and fought to make them stop the senseless torture, not that any type of torture made sense in his mind.

It had almost been a relief when Nero had beamed them down here because no matter where, or when, they were, anywhere was better than in the reach of that monster. Unfortunately Leonard had a sinking feeling that the Romulan bastard was just toying with them while he made repairs on his ship which had somehow survived the trip through time even though the Enterprise had felt about ready to come apart at the seams. When Nero was good and ready, he’d be back and he’d finish what he started and probably take that kid along too just for the fun.

Leonard felt a strong guilty twinge about that just his next glance from Scott’s arm to the rapidly emptying med bag told him that he needed to harden his heart just for a little while. Then he could talk Spock into sneaking away in the middle of the night, not that the Vulcan would need much convincing. Another guilty shudder ripped through him at the thought of creeping away in darkness like a common criminal, not that they had anything to pay him with, only gratitude, which, he had a feeling, was as insubstantial a currency in this time as it was in theirs.

The minutes ticked away slowly as he bound Scott’s arm and moved onto Sulu who had sunk to the ground and was cradling Chekov as best he could with a recently dislocated shoulder and what looked to be a broken rib or two. McCoy had been sure to realign the should the moment after they had been beamed, but he hadn’t been able to do much else. They’d been in the middle of a corn field with seemingly no end in sight and Captain Spock had been adamant about continuing to move until they had at least discovered a road they could follow to a town if not a dwelling itself.

Gently prodding the Russian boy back as far as he would go, Leonard wrapped the ribs with that limited supplies he had left and examined the shoulder again knowing that a many-hours-long walk through a cornfield in the sun was the last thing any healthy person needed much less a wounded one. The second Leonard moved away Chekov was back and though his grip was gentler his tears and rapid-fire Russian came faster believing that he had been hurting the pilot.

Leonard certainly didn’t speak Russian, but he got the gist of the mutterings, not that he hadn’t already seen it. Even with just knowing those two for a few days, the entire bridge crew had seen the easy way the seemed to flow together and recognized it for what it was. Expect maybe… no definitely… Spock. The Vulcan was either blind or was pretending not to see it and, though he had evidence to the contrary, McCoy was much more likely to believe the first one.

He gave the anxious-looking pilot what he hoped was a reassuring smile, although it felt like a grimace, the Asian man nodded slightly and relaxed so maybe it was a reassuring grimace. Shaking his head Leonard stepped around them with the intent to evaluate Uhura’s mental and physical health, only to see that Scott beaten him to it. Finally the exhausted doctor sunk to the ground a very familiar emotion welling up inside him as he watched the happy couple and the happy couple to be: jealousy. He knew that emotion intimately by now, he felt it every time he called his daughter, his beautiful Joanna, and he mother called her away from the screen for some tedious chore or other with the simple intent of cutting his only time with his only child short.

Feeling more exhausted than before he sat down Leonard dropped his chin to his head and focused intently on the moonlight that sparkled off the line of asphalt not too far away. After he didn’t know how long of watching the glistening of what his freed imagination believed to be glistening gemstones hidden within the hideous scar of a road across the land, he heard the sound of an engine coming down the street from the direction Spock and the kid had gone.

He stood slowly and almost ran out to the edge of the pavement watching the glow of approaching headlights as if they were angels. The truck pulled off the side of the road and he could tell that it was exactly everything the kid, what was his name-Jake, Josh, John?- had said. The engine didn’t exactly purr but there wasn’t any sputtering indicating a long term dirt nap for the car and those inside it. However, it was what stepped out of the passenger’s side of the cab that brought Leonard McCoy to tears. The kid, that beautiful kid, had found something other than the helmet to cover Spock’s ears. It was a white winter had with two pink puff balls hanging down from the earmuffs and a purple bunny depicted on the side. Spock turned one of his not glares on the kid who ducked his head and blushed brightly.

“I’m sorry ok! I have different ones at my house, but that’s the only one my parents had and you even said you’d rather wear it than the helmet!” Spock did not reply. Instead he moved with unconscious grace and conscious dignity to complete the tasks of the currently incapacitated doctor.

After many poorly hidden giggles, and a few moments of hysteria, Scott and Sulu were situated in the backseat while Chekov and Uhura, with a sympathetic look from the driver, climbed into the bed. After an argument that even made Jim roll his eyes…

 

“Doctor it is only logical that you ride in the front seat, to be nearer those injured.”

“Dammit, Spock you are injured.”

“I assure you Doctor, I am in perfect health. Spitefully McCoy had poked his chest hard and, to everyone’s surprise, Spock had flinched.

“Your actions are exceedingly childish, Doctor McCoy.”

“If you think I give a damn about that we need to check on that computer running beneath that bunny.” Spock stiffened and Jim had turned away pretending he hadn’t been listening. McCoy smiled slyly. “At least your ears are in good company.” Spock got in the front seat.

 

… they started off again with Jim being incredibly careful not to hit anymore bumps than necessary, swerving constantly over the road to avoid potholes and the like and cursing quietly every time there was one he couldn’t avoid. It was also a brilliant distraction from the man sitting next to him, so brilliant, in fact, that he didn’t realize Spock was staring at him until he spoke.

“Is this method of driving typical of this… area or simply this vehicle, for I do not recall you driving so during our first excursion.” Jim had jumped when Spock spoke and, in consequence, had hit a large, unnecessary, bump. Someone groaned in pain and Spock felt his own injuries twinge uncomfortably, but he didn’t show it. To his surprise and fascination, Jim winced when Lieutenant Sulu groaned before focusing back on the road intently. One oddly angled eyebrow quirked upward.

“You are attempting to avoid causing more pain to those who have sustained injuries.” Jim nodded curtly and Spock’s fascination grew. How long had they, collectively, known this man. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen? This was still considered stupid and dangerous to invite those you did not know into your home, your vehicle, or offer them assistance even in the future, most likely even more so in this time period. And yet, this young man, easily outnumbered, had done all three of these things.

“Why?” Spock asked, his simple question layered with deeper meanings that Jim seemed to understand somehow. His hands tightened on the wheel into white-knuckled fists and the line of his body became tense even as his piercing blue eyes remained resolutely focused on the road. Slowly, quietly, he bit out an answer, the whisper strangely loud in the silence of the cab.

“I don’t know.”

They passed through the small town quickly, so quickly in fact that Spock was given the illogical impression that if he had blinked he would have missed the town entirely. The residences seemed almost… haunted in their emptiness. The only evidence that intelligent beings still occupied this place were the rusty streetlamps whose yellow lights cast tightly bound circles of gold into the velvet darkness, barely serving to illuminate the land they shone directly above./ Leaving the disturbing area behind they passed back into the night. An odd lump of darkness, blacker than the night surrounding it, alerted Spock that they would soon reach their very temporary, dwelling place. With a skill that bespoke of much practice, Jim pulled into the unlit driveway and halted the vehicle. He turned to Spock, his eyes somehow glowing in the black.

“Give me a minute to go turn on some lights, alright. Wouldn’t want anyone slipping on the stairs or tripping over a rug.” Spock simply nodded in agreement, and somehow Jim must have seen it because he exited the truck and walk around to the back, presumably to tell Doctor McCoy the same thing. There was a patter of footsteps on stone and the faint jingle of keys in a lock and one by one invisible windows were illuminated revealing the true size of the structure.

A wide porch protruded from the front and, Spock assumed, the back of the house. There seemed to be two stories with wide windows on the bottom and slightly smaller replicas above them. Trees surrounded the dwelling unusual, as far as he could tell, for this area, but very effective in providing a thick leafy privacy screen. Jim returned across the porch, jumping over the five steps between the wooden structure and the ground, and waved a small black box at the area in front of them before climbing back into the truck.

Spock jumped ever so slightly at the grating noise that the door emitted as it moved. Nothing like the hangar doors he was used to that always opened silently. Jim started the vehicle again and edged into the open space behind the door before removing his keys and closing the door once again with his portable opener. Spock glanced around the garage briefly as he stepped from the truck, noticing that everything had a place and seemed to be in it. It was neat and tidy, and also very clean.

His eyes passed over a wall of tools, they appeared very well-used, the handles on some had even been worn down, but under the bright fluorescent lights, they sparkled like new. Spock turned quickly at the sound of Dr. McCoy berating someone who had attempted to move from the vehicle without his express permission, most likely Mr. Scott. The glare of the Georgia doctor was turned on Spock when he stepped forward to inquire as to where his assistance would be most useful.

“You Mr. Spock, at this precise moment, would be the most useful lying in a bed, with heavy painkillers, and wrapped up in super strong bandages.” They eyebrow rose and Jim sniggered.

“Kinky.” He managed between chuckles. Everyone laughed save the two involved, but Sulu’s quickly turned into a coughing fit which made Jim’s smile fade quickly. “Come on,” he gestured toward the back of the garage where an unassuming white door stood. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

They entered, slowly, and Jim pointed out the kitchen, the staircase, the two bathrooms and the three guest bedrooms. Uhura wrapped her arm around Scott’s waist and led him toward the first one while Chekov and Sulu claimed the second after the pilot sent a despairing look at the stairs. McCoy proclaimed that he needed to be near his patients and stepped into the third. They all gave him numerous ‘Thank You’s before saying goodnight.

“Oh, Doc.” Jim called out as McCoy was about to enter one of the other rooms for checkups. “There’s some first-aid stuff in the kitchen, third drawer down, on the right, on this side of the island. Help yourself ok?” Leonard agreed, thanking him once again, before disappearing.

Jim turned to look a Spock and released an unconscious sniggered. The dark-haired man just quirked one eyebrow until Jim tugged gently on one of the puff balls. Eyes widening Spock ripped the offensive hat away and all but threw it onto a nearby table. Jim struggled to speak through his giggles.

“I’ll find you another one tomorrow, a manly one.” He grinned and glanced at the stairs. “Guess you’ll be up there, unless you want to sleep on the couch.” Assuming that was not the case and expecting Spock to follow Jim started up. They came to a hallway with three doors along it and another short staircase at the end, Spock reasoned that it led to the attic.

“Ok, so you can pick whichever you like, the bathrooms over there,” he pointed to one of the doors on the right, “And uh, goodnight I guess.” Spock was confused and his eyebrows furrowed unconsciously. Jim thought it was cute.

“Which of these sleeping areas it yours, sir? I would not wish to intrude so much as to take your bed from you.” Jim threw his head back and laughed a full belly laugh. When it finally subsided he spoke.

“First of all please, Please, PLEASE don’t call me sir, its Jim. And second my room is actually up there.” He gestured to the second staircase. Both Spock’s eyebrows rose, and Jim began to babble his justifications. “Well it’s got this really awesome window where I can look out and watch the stars all the time and I can even crawl out on the roof and lay on my back until I feel like I’m part of them…” He trailed off realizing that he had revealed something that not even his parents knew to a complete and total stranger.

“Indeed.” Jim blushed hotly and turned for the stairs. On the bottom step he turned slightly.

“Goodnight Spock.” He said quietly before continuing up. Just out of his hearing there came a whispered reply.

“Goodnight Jim.”


	5. Awakening

Spock woke slowly, having foregone meditation the night before in favor of the healing trance that came with sleep. Unfortunately there had also been dreams…that it would be illogical to dwell on. The light of Earth’s yellow sun was poorly filtered by the cyan curtains that hid the windows and the small chronometer on the bedside-table read 11:32. Listening carefully Spock discerned the heavy breathing of sleeping humans. Assured that he would not be disturbed for some time due to their late night, he rose from the bed, his dense form having left only the shallowest of indents in both pillow and comforter. His movements gracefully silent, Spock pulled open the curtains and sank to the floor letting the weak sun rays cast what little warmth they held onto his skin.

He slid deeper and deeper into his mind, reviewing and categorizing the events of the past days. To think that so much had happened in so short a time period was…a human sentiment and completely illogical to imagine that any length of time at one point could be longer or shorter than at another point. To his shame, a sharp pain flashed through his chest at the remembrance of his mother’s death and the demise of his home planet with which he had not been capable of dealing.

Hours passed as Spock meditated, deep within his mind. So deep in fact that he never heard the door open, or the quiet press of footsteps on the thick carpet, nor even the hush of cloth against wood as the visitor set their package atop the dresser. Thus, it was a surprise to find, when he surfaced much later, that a selection of head wear similar to that which he had regretfully donned the night before was laid out for him to choose from. Thankfully neither pompoms nor woodland creature adorned these, and they came in simple colors of red, black, blue, and grey.

It intrigued Spock that their host had been able to enter and exit the room without his knowledge, as did the thoughtfulness of the fascinating young man. He had asked almost no questions, at least no truly pertinent ones, of the strangely attired group of injured people he had found on the side of the road and then had proceeded to transport them, in his vehicle, to his home where they had been given shelter with, so far, no suggestion of payment.

Labeling the man as a current enigma that would surely be quickly solved, Spock picked up the black article of clothing revealing a folded yellow piece of paper which, Spock had to remind himself, was not near as valuable in this time as it would be. The note had no greeting and was unsigned reading simply:

_There are clothes in the closet._

_They may be a little short, or big._

_Help yourself._

Spock’s eyebrow rose and he lifted the others only to discover that the one in his hand had been the only that concealed a message of any sort. The other eyebrow shot up. Perhaps this enigma would not be quite as easily solved as he had expected.

Well aware of the dried blood, not his, sweat, an effect of his human heritage, and other possible substances that gave his uniform its rather pungent smell, Spock stepped across the room and pulled open the only other door. The overhead light clicked on automatically revealing what was a surprisingly well-stocked closet, particularly considering the sole occupant of the house had already admitted this room was not his preferred sleeping area.

There seemed to be very little color in this particular wardrobe, crisp white dress shirts and black t-shirts hung on the top bar, interspaced with jackets in numerous materials and varying shades of grey. On the second rail hung both slacks, again in dark colors, as well as a similar garment made of a material that was slightly rough on the outside yet smooth on the inside. Spock’s mind dredged up his memories of Earth History class. If memory served him, the fabric was known as denim and the garments themselves as jeans. He had seen them during his time in San Francisco attending the academy. Despite the fact that fabrics of a much more practical nature were readily available, it was very common to see human students wearing them as they exited the campus in the evening.

Curious as to the draw of this article of clothing and becoming more aware of his odor by the second, Spock removed a pair of jeans and one of the t-shirts and proceeded across the hall to make use of the water shower as disturbing as it was to his desert psyche to be even slightly submerged in liquid for any period of time. However, it was rather unlikely that this dwelling would hold a sonic shower as the invention of that technology was still a few centuries away.

The staircase was not difficult to find after he had sufficiently cleaned and dressed himself, not forgetting to don the dark headwear, and scrubbed the uniform as best he could before hanging it on the shower rod to dry, but there was another hall on the other side of the stairs that he had not noticed the night before. It held four doors, two on each side, and the overhead light appeared to be either turned off or burned. Deep inside his mind, the human Spock shuddered and suggested, very loudly, that they run down the stairs and never return.

Jerking his head away from the hallway Spock proceeded down to the primary level at a stately, slower pace than was normal for him, not that he had anything to prove, that would be illogical.

To his surprise there came the quiet clatter of dishes and hushed buzzing of whispering humans from the kitchen area in which their host had indicated Dr. McCoy could find medical supplies early this morning. He traversed the open floor of the foyer and the table-less dining room and passed through the swinging door to find a great room, separated by a counter and every other occupant of the house. They appeared to be dressed similarly to him, all in borrowed clothes though not everyone had been given the same limited choice of color.

Even Lieutenant Uhura had received a change in clothing and Spock’s eyebrow quirked a bit as to where the female-cut jeans and shirt had appeared from. She and Doctor McCoy were sitting on high, three-legged stools behind the counter watching their host all but float around the kitchen while Commander Scott and Lieutenant Sulu, to whom ensign Chekov seemed to be irrevocably attached, lounged carefully on the large couch and one of the plush arm chairs. In fact Mr. Scott seemed to have no inclination to move; his head tipped back with a peaceful expression. Finally, Spock was noticed by Doctor McCoy who, of course, was compelled to announce his presence in the most ostentatious of manners possible.

“Well, if it isn’t our own sleeping beauty. I think you’re a little early darlin’ the prince hasn’t made it up there yet.” Jim, whose back was toward Spock, stiffened and then, with a casual swagger lifted two plates which carried a combination of eggs, cheese, and meat, the latter of which made Spock’s nose scrunch slightly, and set them down in front of the doctor and lieutenant, pausing once in the journey to add unknown spice to Doctor McCoy’s.

“Enjoy, Bones.” McCoy glared at the younger man for the name and stared suspiciously down at his plate. From his position beneath Sulu’s arm, Chekov spoke up./ “Vhat did you call him?” Jim looked startled for a moment at the navigator’s young voice, then laughed and moved back to the stove to finish what seemed to be a very late breakfast.

“Well…,” he glanced at the clock, “earlier today, Bones, here came out and caught me working out, which was embarrassing to begin with, but then, after a long awkward silence, he began harping on me about eating more and ‘getting some meat on my bones’.” Chekov giggled at the air quotes. “Thus I shall call him ‘Bones’.”

McCoy, who was pointedly pretending not to listen, gathered up his courage and took a small bite of his meal. In a much exaggerated expression of pleasure he dropped his fork and mimicked his eyes rolling back into his head. He held up a finger as he finished chewing and opened his eyes to address the blonde man.

“Kid, you keep cooking for me like that and you can call me ‘Shirley’ if you want.” Jim let out a brief guffaw and Spock found himself watching the way the lean man’s body curved when the laughed. Regaining himself Spock felt a shiver of uneasiness. Why were they all so comfortable here? With this man? Was this some trick of Nero’s?

Jim delivered food to the other three and Spock had to fight the urge to tell them not to eat it. If it was a scheme it would do no good to alert Nero that he had caught onto him so quickly and if it wasn’t it would do no good to insult their host. Jim, if that was his name, turned to Spock smiling.

“Well, come on. Don’t lurk in the doorway. Have a seat.” He gestured toward the counter and Spock took a seat one stool away from Doctor McCoy the smell of whose breakfast was still disturbing. As Jim returned, however, he caught another, much more welcome smell. Mushrooms, tomatoes and various vegetables mixed in with cheese and egg. Jim shrugged a little self-consciously and set the plate before him.

“They said you were a vegetarian, but that you’d be ok with the cheese and the eggs. I hope it’s alright.” Spock took a bite and resisted the urge to mimic Doctor McCoy’s earlier actions, they seemed very appropriate now. He wanted to say that it was wonderful, amazing, heavenly, but Vulcan decorum and the proximity of his shipmates, of whom he was still captain, allowed him only to state, “It is adequate.”

Jim seemed unclear on how to take that statement and his smile diminished which sent a painful, illogical, unreal, twinge through Spock’s side. Thankfully, he was saved by the Doctor’s deprecating scoff.

“Don’t be offended kid. He’s a strange one. By ‘it is adequate’ he actually meant ‘this is amazing and you are a god’.” Jim, chuckled, still looking slightly disbelieving, but the smile had returned and Spock was able to force away the odd pain for later examination.

“Pulling out his own meal and leaning across the counter to eat it Jim joined them in chewing, a smile coming to his face randomly. He cleared away the dishes once everyone had finished, though McCoy glared at Jim’s half empty plate in disapproval, and set them in the dishwasher which buzzed almost inaudibly as it cleaned them.

“So,” he began, leaning across the island with his hands clasped in front of him, “where you guys from?”


	6. Lies and Parents

" _So, where you guys from?”_  

That had apparently been the wrong question to ask because before the vibrations of the sound waves had left his throat the house had gone almost deathly still. They didn’t seem to have an answer for him and although Jim was well aware that taking in strangers was ridiculously stupid, he found he didn’t care that much. However, his parents would notice that the truck was gone and would eventually investigate. Since today was Friday they would probably expect that he had gone into work. By that logic they’d be here later tonight, Friday was the only day Jim left work at anything resembling a normal time, or tomorrow, and they’d want an explanation for the fact that their baby’s house was suddenly full of strange people. Jim sighed and spoke again.

“Look, whatever is going on I would really like to know, however, you don’t have to tell me right now. The only problem is that my parents will notice that the truck is missing and will be over here either tonight or tomorrow to investigate. They aren’t going to be very accepting of the fact that I picked up a bunch of strangers who in the middle of the night, no matter how much they looked like they needed help, so we have to come up with a cover story that won’t freak them out too much.” His eyes landed on Spock’s skullcap-covered head. “Translation: no freaky cult stuff or whatever you guys are ok?”

That released a great deal of the tension especially when McCoy began to assure Jim that “no way in hell” were they a cult and where did he go about getting the ideas for things like that. With that they all migrated to the living room and began laying the groundwork for cover stories that grew more and more ridiculous by the minute. After Spock’s eyebrow that been lost, almost permanently beneath his hat and many of them were suffering from aching sides, they apologized profusely to Sulu each time he laughed, they calmed and agreed that they were a group of friends traveling on a cross-country road trip and had gotten in a car accident. Whoever had hit them had sped off and Jim had been the next one to come along and had graciously helped them. They each had various hometowns and states to remember, except for Chekov who couldn’t be from anywhere but Russia, and it seemed like meeting his parents would go very smoothly. 

A comfortable silence had settled then suddenly Sulu spoke up, his voice a bit hoarse with pain despite the fact that both Jim and Bones were watching the clock and making calculations on the various painkillers that Jim had stocked up.

“Hey, Jim. What’s your last name?” Jim took a sip of his coffee, which he’d handed out to everyone except Spock, who had refused, and Chekov who didn’t need any caffeine.

“Well my parent’s name is Parker, but I was adopted and apparently my birth mother requested that they not change my name before she died, so my last name is actually Kirk.” Another intense stillness, save for Scott who choked on the sip he’d been taking. Jim shot up taking the cup from him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Scotty you alright?” The Scotsman nodded and breathed deeply before sitting back up from his hunched position. 

"I'm fine laddy. You've got a thing for the nicknames dontcha?" He asked breathlessly, the rapid change of subject going unnoticed by Jim who shrugged and grinned slightly.

"Not really, I guess they just fit you guys." That sent McCoy into a bout of unintelligible muttering. It got so loud that Sulu actually called his name in concern.

"Leonard." The muttering continued without pause, so he tried again. "Leonard!" Nothing. Chekov attempted next, thinking his accent might break through the man's self-induced trance.

"Doctor McCoy?" No luck. Jim held up a hand to forestall any further attempts and, when he had their attention, took a theatrical breath.

"BONES!!" The doctor jumped a foot in the air.

"Damnit Jim. Where d'you get off on giving people heart attacks?! Damn near jumped outta my skin!" His eyebrows furrowed when Jim gave a sweeping bow and everyone else burst into peals of laughter. Finally Jim turned to him, a shit-eating grin splitting his face.

"So Bones did you hear what Scotty was saying about..."

"Damnit Jim!"

They laughed again and Jim began clearing the empty coffee cups. When he disappeared into the kitchen some of the earlier tension returned. They all knew that eventually Jim's good faith would run out and they would be forced to explain, if not with the truth then with something believable, which would mean definitely not telling the truth, or he'd make them leave. No matter the strange connection they all felt, human patience only goes so far.

A shrill ringing broke the thick silence and everyone, save the Vulcan, jumped. The ringing stopped and Jim's voice began a one-sided conversation that had Chekov scratching his head.

"Vhat is he doing?" The young genius asked of no one in particular.

"I believe," Spock responded, "that our host is making use of an antique Earth communication device called a telephone." Chekov stared curiously at the kitchen door which masked the fading sounds of Jim's conversation as he wandered into another area of the house.

"However, Spock continued, his tone immediately snapping the boy to attention, "that is not our concern. Our time would be much more efficiently spent discerning when and how we shall return to our own time. Mr. Scott."

"Aye?"

"Do you believe that with the technology available to you in this time period you would be able to construct a device reminiscent of a transporter?" Four jaws dropped, but Scotty simply furrowed his brow at Spock, his gaze quickly becoming thoughtful.

"Spock, that's insane!" Nyota burst out breaking her long, uncharacteristic silence. One eyebrow quirked so that it disappeared beneath the edge of his hat.

"Indeed?" She rolled her eyes.

"Yes! Scott may have worked a miracle for us earlier, but asking him to build, from memory, an extremely complicated device centuries before its time?! That's just..."

"I can do it." Nyota jerked to a stop mid thought. Scotty's interrupted appeared to have almost literally pulled her up short. Spock seemed almost smug.

"And how long do you estimate before it can be completed Mr. Scott?"

"Depends on how fast I can get the materials, we are smack in the middle of nowhere, but I'd have to say no shorter than three weeks." 

"Very well...”

"Now wait one damn minute!" Bones had finally rediscovered the muscles necessary to lift his jaw. "Are you telling me that one man is going to build one of those goddamn machines in one month without the right parts and we're gonna **use** it?!"

"Doctor, your talent for observation of the blatant could possibly be more useful at another point in time."

"Alright, then tell me this you pointy-eared smartass. How exactly do you plan to acquire these "materials"?" Spock paused a moment and McCoy smirked.

"Doctor may I see your padd?" Warily he reached into his little black bag, never far away, and handed the Vulcan their only scrap of technology from the future. Long fingers worked furiously for a few seconds, then, with a quiet whirring sound, out slid a perfect ten dollar bill. Spock held it up for examination, not that they would know the difference, and McCoy shook his head.

"No, no way! I don't care what time it is or whether we belong here or not. That's counterfeiting and that's illegal on Earth in case you didn't know hobgoblin."

"I am well aware of the various laws that are in effect on this planet, Doctor, both in our time and this one; being as adverse to breaking one as I am, I must inquire as to your brilliant alternative solution." McCoy glared, his mouth open as if to respond but nothing was forthcoming, and so Spock continued.

"Very well. My suggestion is that we inquire as to the location of the nearest financial institution and request that our host transport one of us to it. After entering the building they will discreetly replicate a predetermined amount of money. Once they have returned we shall explain that it is necessary that we construct a device to communicate with the other members of our…cult." There were some disbelieving looks, but no one had a better idea so they remained silent.

In the silence Chekov slowly raised his hand. Spock’s eyebrows disappeared again and Sulu snickered quietly into his hand which earned him a hurt look from the Russian.

"Yes, Ensign Chekov?" The hand sank and the young face blushed lightly pink.

"I thought sir, that ve vere not going to be a cult, sir." Spock looked as thoughtful as a Vulcan can look.

“A valid point Mister Chekov.”

“Thank you sir.”

“It seems that Doctor McCoy’s fervent denial that we are part of any sort of… group has presented a problem. Seeing as this issue is by your making, Doctor McCoy, would you please enlighten us as to the solution.” ‘If looks could kill’ was an appropriate description of the glare Bones turned on Spock. However the human’s acidic tongue remained silent and he grew thoughtful.

“Maybe…no…what about…naw, not that either…. He’d see through that in a second. Damnit why’d the kid have to be so smart?! Wait a second; I think I’ve got it. Ok, ya’ll remember the kid saying that he worked for NASA and the facility was just an hour or two away.” They all nodded; there had been a glancing mention of it during earlier conversation. “Well, since we’re already makin’ the money why don’t we whip up some NASA credentials for Scott who’s supposed to be working on a top secret project. It has to be built and tested away from any NASA building, why is confidential, but it’s not illegal and Jim’s house is absolutely perfect and he wants to know if Jim would mind him building it in an unused room.” 

Bones finished and slouched back in his chair splaying his arms in a ‘ta-da’ motion as if expecting applause. Everyone shared skeptical glances and the silence quickly irritated the southern man.

“Oh come on! It’s better than telling him we’re from about two thousand years in the future.” There were some hesitant nods.

“It also provides a reason for us to remain here and not contact either a relative to collect us or a company that loans out vehicles.” Everyone seemed much happier with the idea now that Spock had added his two cents.

“Not that any of us could drive it anyway.” Sulu chuckled drawing brief laughs from around the room.

McCoy glowered at them all.

Jim stretched from his slightly crouched position behind the kitchen door, feeling his vertebrae crack from the way he had twisted himself to press an ear to the wood. What he had heard explained a lot and the free way in which they had spoken convinced him that even if it wasn’t the truth they believed it was. His curiosity was piqued and none of them seemed particularly dangerous, so he’d play along with their story and even help them in whatever way he could just to see what became of this little invention. 

Wary of the silence he crossed carefully back to the island picked up the phone before settling it gently into the base. The loud cheerful beep was sure to alert them to his presence. Taking care not to exaggerate his movements, that would be a sure giveaway, Jim crossed the kitchen again and pushed open the door. Six pairs of eyes turned to him so he leaned against the door frame with a casual,

“What’s up?” 

The effect was immediately ruined as the swinging door smacked him hard in the butt. Peals of laughter erupted all around and Spock raised an eyebrow, to which Jim stuck out his tongue. Rubbing his posterior in a theatrical show of wounded pride he collapsed, with a put-upon sigh, into his chair. It was big and comfy and squishy. He had picked it out specifically and it always made him feel like he could melt backwards into the cushions.

“So, what’re we talking about?” There was a long pause and Jim smirked inwardly. This could be fun.

“We have not partaken in any conversation since your return; however, before your fascinating entrance we were discussing whether it would be inappropriate to inquire as to the identity of the person with whom you were recently conversing on the telephone.” Jim’s eyes glazed over for a moment as he translated, then he laughed.

“Very funny. That was actually my mom. She said she didn’t hear my motorcycle go by and wanted to know why I wasn’t going into work today. I told her A: that’s creepy, B: I have enough vacation days amounted to take the next month off if I wanted to, and C: I have a little project I’m working on right now.” Scotty stiffened, oh yes this could be very fun. “She wanted, of course, to see this ‘project’ so she invited them over for dinner around 7. Is that alright with you guys? I know this is a lot to handle in so short a time and if you want I can call her back and asked for a rain check.” Spock opened his mouth, but Bones held up a hand.

“Don’t, just don’t. That’s not an idiom worth asking about. “

“Very well.” Spock acquiesced. “Jim, I believe that without the express medical prohibition by Doctor McCoy, we would all like to attend tonight.” Jim smiled and clapped his hands together.

“Alrighty then, let’s get ready to meets the parents!”


	7. Protect

After a large amount of eye-rolling and raised eyebrows at Jim’s ridiculous statement, they didn’t exactly spring into movement. No matter how quickly they wanted to return home the truth of the matter was that the two parties who would be doing most of the work on the transporter were both seriously injured, whether they would admit it or not.

Scott wasn’t hard to convince that he still required the doctor’s care. A swift application of pressure on the wounded area had the man wincing and sulking but obeying whatever McCoy had ordered. Spock was harder. Oh, Bones knew all about Vulcans and they freaky mind voodoo that put them in trances which caused supposedly miraculous healing; he knew that it wasn’t complete bullshit and that Vulcans put a lot more faith into that mental exercise than they should, and certainly more than they put into human medicine.

Shaking his head, Bones handed Sulu two more pain pills and sent him off to rest. When Chekov stood to support him and gave no sign of leaving his side Bones specified that he was to rest, not ‘sleep’. The pilot gave him a lewd grin and Pavel pouted slightly. He gave similar orders to Scott who was still moping, but stood willingly when Nyota rolled her eyes and pulled on his uninjured arm. McCoy nodded, satisfied that his least stubborn patients had been taken care of. He turned around only to find that the other two occupants of the house had disappeared from under his nose.

Releasing a put-upon sigh he set off to find ‘that ridiculously stubborn, idiotic hobgoblin’. His search ended at a pair of sliding glass doors that led to the back porch of Jim’s house. Both had their backs to him, Jim leaning over the arm of the wide porch swing rocking slowly back and forth with one foot on the rail, and Spock sitting ram-rod straight in a wicker chair beside him. There was something though, maybe it was in the set of the Vulcan’s shoulders, just a tad more slouched than McCoy had ever seen them, that told him to back away. And his instincts had never led him wrong before.

 

After Jim’s unintentionally awkward exclamation had been cleared up, he noticed that Bones went into what he would now and forever call, ‘Doctor Mode’. Spock seemed to have noticed as well and didn’t appear to be eagerly awaiting his own turn under the southern man’s scrutiny. Jim stood carefully and beckoned with one finger. With just another irritating eyebrow quirk, Spock silently followed him. The others watched them go, but said nothing, though Scotty glared in annoyance. Jim childishly stuck out his tongue in response.

They ended up on the back porch, not somewhere that Jim had spent an awful lot of time. There was a porch swing on either side of the doors and a few scattered wicker chairs with their weather-proof cushions, but they all faced west and Jim was never home in time to catch the sunsets except from his bike, not that he saw many sunrises either. The sun was already sinking scorching the sky and Jim glanced at his watch in surprise. Sure enough they only had about two and a half hours before his parents arrived, they were always prompt.

Shrugging inwardly slid into his spot on the swing, a distinction taken from childhood when he and his parents would wake up early on crisp autumn mornings and make their sleepy way to the back porch. Slowly light would peak over the horizon and they would sit, huddled together, and watch the fields fill up with rays of golden sun. With a wide sweep of his hand he invited Spock to sit as well, for some reason disappointed when he didn’t claim the other side of the swing, but took a wicker chair beside Jim. For several moments they simply sat there, but eventually Jim’s insatiable curiosity got the better of him.

“So are you willing to tell me anything about where you guys are from, and how you got together? Frankly, you’re a pretty eclectic group.” Jim hadn’t missed the way Spock tensed, so he decided to try a different tactic. “Never mind. Why don’t I tell you about me? I was born on March 22, 2008 when our governments were bigger idiots than they are now and World War Three was a distinct possibility.” He’d meant it as a joke, but some of the things he’d read about in the years surrounding his birth had made him shudder and really appreciate how far they had come in twenty years. Spock didn’t laugh. 

“Anyway, my parents were in an accident the day I was born, probably on the way home from the hospital.” Spock turned to him and Jim saw a flicker of pity in those dark eyes. He waved it off, ignoring the tiny twinge in his chest. “Yeah, I know. But I was pretty lucky. They crashed on the edge of the Parker Farm and Jack and Christina, my foster parents, saw the flash or heard something, no one was ever really clear on that, but they found the wreck and my mother was alive enough to give them my name. She had a piece of metal speared through her stomach, but she gave them my name and held me until all the life had bled from her eyes. My father had died almost instantly, his arms reaching out for my mother and me.” It took a moment for Jim to realize exactly what he had said and to a man who was essentially a stranger. His defenses shot up immediately. “After all that the Parkers just couldn’t part with me.” Spock didn’t meet his grin with a watery scoff which had happened the last time he’d told so much of that story; then again both he and the recipient, a very pretty blonde lady, had been rather drunk at the time. Instead there was reproach in those dark eyes. Reproved he looked down. In a quiet voice, almost inaudible, Spock spoke his first words since they had escaped Dr. Frankenbones.

“I grieve with thee.” For some reason something in Jim shuddered at those formal words, they just seemed so right, and a feeling he didn’t completely recognize began to spread through him.

“Thanks.” He said just as quietly. “But it’s not like I knew them.” The silence returned, but this time Spock was the one to break it.

“My mother has also passed.” Jim looked up slightly surprised.

“God Spock, I’m so sorry.” Dark eyebrows furrowed.

“You could not have affected these events. You bear no fault for her death.” Jim gave him an odd look and shook his head.

“No it’s just an expression of sympathy. Although I can’t know how you feel, I feel remorse for your pain.” Spock nodded in understanding, pushing down his automatic response that Vulcans do not feel. Then his eyes turned inward. Hesitantly Jim reached out and touched one broad shoulder. His hand rested for only a moment but it was enough. Spock straightened ready to seek forgiveness for his inattentiveness, but Jim beat him to speaking.

“What was she like?” Spock’s head tilted slightly, involuntarily, Jim thought it was adorable. “Your mom, if you don’t mind. What was she like?” Spock almost began with the expected, at least by those he knew, ‘She was my mother’, but something stopped him, and as he spoke something deep inside him, which he would never admit to having, relaxed.

“She was exceptional…”

They talked and talked wrapped in their own little world unaware of the passing time or the sinking sun. Jim was in the middle of explaining how placing sharpened objects on the seat of a particularly unpleasant professor could have highly entertaining results when the sliding door opened silently on its well-oiled track and a new voice made him jump.

“Yeah, I don’t think poor Mr. Wheaton was quite the same after that.” They both looked up and Jim’s eyes widened. 

“Dad?” The graying man crossed his arms and leaned casually against the door frame waiting for his son’s brain to catch up. Jim glanced disbelievingly at his watch and shot up.

“Shit!” 

“James Kirk!” The chastising voice was female and came from within the house, but Jim still winced. Sheepishly he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sorry?” He tried. His foster father gave him a look that read Unimpressed. Jim shrugged. “I really am, but I haven’t got anything even ready to cook and…” He trailed off apologetically. Jack Parker shook his head.

“As much as I would enjoy watching you attempt to explain this to your mother, she has the situation well in hand.” Jim’s eyebrow’s furrowed. “She called earlier wondering if we should bring anything and one of your…friends picked up the phone. He said that he didn’t know what you had planned and, wouldn’t bother you, I think; it’s been a long time since I heard a drawl that thick. Anyway he and your mother are, as far as I know, destroying your kitchen.” Jim slid back into his seat with a sigh.

“Well, there’s no helping it now.” His face scrunched up in a mockery of sadness. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” The unimpressed look returned and as Jim was rolling his eyes he noticed Spock standing stiffly, almost at attention. Horrified at his own thoughtlessness, he made a wide gesture with each hand, one towards his father and one towards his new friend and proceeded to introduce them.

“Sorry, my manners seem to have taken the night off. Dad this is my friend Spock. Spock this is my father Jack Parker.” Mr. Parker stretched out his right hand with the intention of a handshake. If Spock had been human he would have been very proud of himself as he hesitated for only a moment and masked that hesitation well. The human hand of Jim’s foster father was overly warm and the thick calluses on his fingers scraped roughly over Spock’s palm. 

Though they touched for only the barest seconds Spock built his shields into thick walls that would be exhausting to maintain for any greater length of time. Although he did not wish to allow the thoughts of a strange man to touch his mind, he also felt deeply horrified at the idea of invading the privacy of this man who was so close to Jim, almost as if he were invading Jim’s own. The Jim in question grinned widely as their hands separated and Spock let his heaviest defenses fall as the very slight, the man must have a rather calm mind, on his shields dissipated.

They entered the house and Jim and his father made their way into the kitchen where they quickly fell into the roles for which the woman of the house had trained them. Jim slid up alongside his mother at the cookbook, interpreting recipes over her shoulder, and Mr. Parker gathered plates, cups, and silverware out of various drawers and cupboards. Nyota and Pavel were already at work; she slowly stirred a bubbling pot while he meticulously diced a pre-arranged pile of vegetables and slid the miniscule squares into the water. Scott and Sulu entered from the area of the dining room and gathered the utensils that Jim’s father had been unable to carry before returning back the way they had come. Even Dr. McCoy made an appearance inquiring briefly as to what temperature the meat should be cooked. 

Spock resisted the urge to shudder in his position along one wall, but he must have made some movement because Jim’s eyes flickered up towards him before he turned back to the book, one hand on his mother’s shoulder. A quiet conversation ensued, and Spock heard nothing over the bustle around him, but the result was that the greying woman laughed, the sparkle in her eyes sending a pang through Spock’s side (which he ignored), and reached up to ruffle her son’s golden locks. He frowned and attempted to straighten them which only made her laugh more. 

“How sweet of you Jimmy looking out for your friends like that, but Leonard already let me know and don’t worry I know how to cook for picky eaters.” Jim pouted and, having given up on his hair, crossed his arms over his chest childishly. His brilliant blue eyes grew wide and seemed almost a quiver with moisture as his teeth worried his bottom lip. Something inside Spock jolted and all his well-ordered thoughts disappeared replaced with one all-consuming need.

_Protect!_

Just as he moved to spring off the wall Jim’s head jerked forward and the pitiful expression was replaced with a look of laughing disbelief. The return of good humor allowed Spock to regain himself as Jim chased Nyota around the kitchen with the same towel she had used to smack the back of his head. Rapidly Spock built up his shields again, not to the same level as when he had shaken Mr. Parker’s hand, but much stronger than usual, and resigned himself to a night of deep meditation in order to categorize this strange phenomenon.

Eventually Spock was pulled, not literally, into the fray and dinner was finally served. Conversation came easily, though Spock did not often take part, and the Parkers expressed easy acceptance of the explanation as to the presence of six strangers in their son’s home. Again Spock felt doubt. Could this truly be a manipulation of Nero’s? Why then was he toying with them so? Why allow comfort and safety when he could just as easily give the humans the illusion of it in their minds in order to tear it away later? 

The dark eyes of Jim’s father, which had left him only briefly since they had gathered at the table, did nothing to erase his doubts. It was only out of politeness that Spock did not stare back at the man, instead keeping his eyes turned away, giving the impression that he knew not why he was the subject of such scrutiny. 

Spock was not the only one that had noticed Mr. Parker’s apparent fascination with Spock, or more specifically his hat. Subtle glances passed around the table avoiding only Mrs. Parker and Doctor McCoy who had unwittingly charmed the matron and was rather enjoying their conversation. Finally Jim couldn’t stand it anymore. He neither slammed his silverware nor made any passionate gesture, but his quiet call for his father’s attention brought the eyes of everyone at the table.

“Dad, after you’ve put your eyeballs back inside your head and gotten ahold of yourself I would like to let you know that Spock has a problem with body temperature regulation that requires that his head remain covered as much as possible in order to keep his temperature inside and acceptable range.” Jim immediately turned back to his dinner and his father looked down at his own plate, appearing chastised. Spock’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Jim could not have known that his body temperature was lower than a human’s and thus he was uncomfortable in Earth-normal temperatures, particularly in the winter, then why. Something clicked quietly in the back of Spock’s mind and he remembered that in many Earth cultures it was considered rude to wear a hat inside, especially when consuming a meal. The intense scrutiny of Mr. Parker now made sense and Spock felt a guilty flush when he realized that he had based his accusations towards these people, though they had never been voiced, solely on one man’s imagined dislike.

Another thought hit him, the metaphor being particularly appropriate as his breath released in a small gasp when he realized it. Jim had no way of knowing what he said was in a way the truth. He had lied to his father in order to protect Spock. He knew that in human society it was not unusual for offspring to tell their parents “white lies” but it was obvious that Jim loved and respected these people. Without his conscious thought Spock found his eyes drifting again and again toward this strange human.

The rest of the evening passed without incident and it was with fondness that goodbyes were bid that night. Christina, as she had requested they call her, even pulled Nyota and Pavel into a hug. Clean up was quick and easy, most of it had actually been completed during the cooking process, and when yawns began to circulate through the group Jim shooed everyone off to rest. They gave their sleepy thanks and slouched away, but Spock stayed behind assisting as Jim loaded dirty dishes into the washer. The machinery hummed quietly as it worked only serving to emphasis the silence of the kitchen. Jim handed Spock a towel to dry his hands, wiping his own on his jeans, and smiled a lock of hair falling across his forehead.

“I’m glad that went so smooth, except for my dad staring at you hat. Sorry about that by the way, but I couldn’t think of anything else and I didn’t want him to get the wrong impression about you.” Spock tilted his head slightly in an unconscious expression of confusion. Jim resisted the urge to “awwwww”. 

“It is I who owe you an apology. I regret that you were forced to say what you believed was a lie to your father, though your assessment of my situation was not wholly incorrect.” Now it was Jim’s turn to look confused.

“What do you mean?” Spock took a deep breath, hating that he must lie to this man.

“You of course are aware of the differences between my physical appearance and that of a normal human being.” Jim nodded. “In addition I also have poor thyroid function which makes it difficult to maintain my body temperature. It has been deduced that this is a possible side effect of my disfigurement.” Jim’s face was blank as his hand rose to trace the outline of Spock’s ear through the knit cap sending a shudder through the slim body despite the separating layer. Spock did not pull away and for a long moment they stood in the likeness of statues, then Jim spoke, his voice so quiet even sensitive ears like the one he cradled struggled to catch it.

“I don’t think they’re disfiguring.” Spock released a sharp, almost silent breath unable to formulate a response. Jim pulled his hand away, clear eyes never leaving dark ones, and stepped around his unmoving companion. At the door he paused, not turning, and spoke again, his voice still quiet and breathy.

“Good night Spock.” The door had swung closed before pale lips parted in reply.

“Good night Jim.”


	8. Warmth

Friday night passed slowly as Spock’s earlier dreams had returned and were made all the more disturbing by the strange urge that had overtaken him in Jim’s kitchen. Saturday dawned bright and cool, and when Jim went into town to run errands Nyota accompanied him equipped with Dr. McCoy’s PADD, not that he was easily willing to part with it. Jim, at her request, dropped her off in front of the small bank and indicated the grocery just down the block where she could join him when she was finished. She nodded brightly and made her way through the glass doors. Walking purposefully she managed to fool everyone in the lobby, employee and customer alike, into believing she not only knew what she was doing, but was allowed to be there, and find an empty room in the back. Breathing deeply she set the PADD down on the well-polished conference table, pulled up the image of the fifty dollar bill, and, hating herself but knowing it was necessary, pressed print.

Ten minutes later Nyota Uhura exited the bank with 300 dollars in large bills, 50s and 100s, and about 200 in hundred in smaller bills, 20s, and 10s. Jim smiled at her when she found him in the supermarket and she forced herself not to dwell on it. They’d be gone, hopefully relatively soon and no one would be able to trace this back to Jim. Eventually she was able to relax into the familiar routine of shopping. It may be in a grocery store, but nothing calmed her down like shopping.

“Nosy busybodies.” Jim said brightly as they piled the bags into the bed of the truck. Nyota gave him a confused look which he returned with an incredulous one. “You mean you didn’t see them?! Wow, maybe I’m just paranoid, but if there’s not a rumor going around about that wild Kirk boy and the beautiful African girl by noon today I’ll eat my cat.” Now, Nyota was torn between laughing and taking the wheel from him in concern, not that she knew how to drive, but hey, anything’s better than leaving the insane guy in control right? Instead she said, gently,

“Jim, you don’t have a cat.” He laughed.

“Well she’s not really mine, but she comes around once in a while, when she feels like an easy meal, and I feed her so she hangs around and terrorizes anyone she doesn’t recognize. Actually I haven’t seen her for a while.” His mouth curled into a smirk. “I hope she shows up today, Bones will freak out.” Nyota laughed loudly her dark mood almost forgotten.

Soon they were pulling into the driveway, only to have Chekov and Sulu walk up from the front porch. The little Russian started babbling about a demon monster that had snuck into the house and attacked Dr. McCoy, Sulu had a smirk on his face; apparently he was gaining a deep satisfaction from McCoy’s problems. Jim just laughed and handed them each a bag of groceries from the bed of the trunk. Sure enough, not thirty seconds later a rather red Bones came thumping out of the house his face and arms covered in shallow scratches. Jim winced in sympathy, but couldn’t help poking a little fun.

“Not much of a doctor if you can’t treat yourself, are ya Bones?” McCoy’s hands curled into claws and he made a gesture as if to reach for Jim’s neck, but at the last second he aborted the motion and simply pointed inside his breathing harsh and loud. Grinning like a Cheshire cat Jim followed the direction of the appendage all the while calling out for, what everybody could only assume, was the cat.

“Artemis. Artemis, here girl. Have you been torturing Bones? Good girl.” There was a huff from the doorway as Jim set down his load of groceries, but McCoy didn’t comment further. As Jim made his way across the kitchen, setting purchases in their proper place, his ears caught the sound of quiet purring. He paused for a moment, in shock, and pushed open the door to the living room. Surprised by Jim’s sudden lack of movement, the others crowded around him to peer through the doorway only to mimic his frozen posture.

Spock was sitting, not stiff, but straight in one of the easy chairs with a long silver cat folded gracefully on his lap and purring loudly as he stroked it. Once the surprise passed that Artemis had taken a liking to another human being Jim’s eyes caught sight of the long elegant fingers as they combed through the short silver hairs of the tabby cat, whose blissful expression Jim deeply envied only to realize what he was thinking and thank every deity he knew, as well as those he didn’t know, that no one, especially here, could read his mind.

“Good God, he looks like a villain from those old spy movies. All he needs is a goddamn mustache!” Bones’ outburst startled them all, even Spock, who hid it well. Jim chuckled, glad the frozen moment was over, and replied.

“Nah, I think he’d look better with a beard, but you’re right about the evil thing.” He grinned mischievously, giggling inwardly as the eyebrow arched, “It’s a good look on you Spock, and everyone loves a sexy devil.” By now Spock had paused in his petting which caused Artemis to meow commandingly until Jim lifted her into his arms and cradled her like an infant.

“How’s my pretty girl today?” He cooed wiggling a finger into her white underbelly and stroking her ears with his other hand. “I haven’t seen you in a long time baby girl, did you finally get hungry?” In response to his teasing tone the tabby swiped playfully at his nose like a kitten, then twisted in his arms, her body angled back towards Spock.

“Well, well, well.” Jim chuckled as he settled on the edge of the armchair allowing the cat to stretch between them, her tail twitching on Spock’s thigh and her head on Jim’s knee. “It seems you’re the new favorite Spock.” He leaned backward and threw one arm over his eyes dramatically. “I’ve been replaced!” The only response to his melodramatics was a scoff from the kitchen and the return of Spock’s fingers to the fine silver hairs.

Spock was startled when Jim perched along the armrest of the chair he had occupied. The planet Earth was considerably cooler than the deserts of Vulcan which caused human beings to have a higher core body temperature, which Spock could feel radiating across the small space between them. It had been sometime since he had been truly warm, either here or on the Enterprise, and it took all of Spock’s control not to lean into Jim’s body and never leave his side. Why was he reacting this way to the closeness of this particular human? He had spent time in close quarters with hundreds of humans, at the Academy as well as onboard the Enterprise, and yet never had he experienced such an urge before. He remembered his strange reaction toward the fake threat to Jim in the kitchen and had the illogical human feeling of the answer to his question forming the back of Spock’s mind, just out of reach.

Jim’s theatrical reaction to his pet’s, logical, preference to Spock, did not help matters. The sudden fling of his arm to his eyes caused his body to slide on the leather and Spock’s shoulder ended up tucked beneath Jim’s arm while the line of his chest burned along Spock’s bicep. The heat was euphoric and the right side of his body began to feel almost numb in comparison, in response his subconscious prompted him to curl deeper into the heat source so as to equally warm his body. The logical function of his survival instincts was promptly ignored.

Eventually Jim stood and made his way into the kitchen in order to finish putting away the groceries. This freed Spock from the torment of fighting his instincts and maintaining his shields, which had come as an afterthought, but also removed the delicious warmth from his side. He was struck with the urge to chase after Jim and bind him to his side not only with his arms, the trap of which his human could never escape, but the sacred mental bonds of his people that would mark Jim as his, and him as Jim’s, to every telepathic species in the universe, known and unknown, as well as the more perceptive of the psi-null species.

The feline, Artemis, made a sound of protest when Spock rose from his seat, flushing at the path his thoughts had taken. A part of him, his most primitive, deeply hidden part (most likely a side effect of his human blood), told him to return, that he was a coward for allowing another the chance to claim his mate, for leaving them unprotected. The crisp autumn air was like a slap in the face and he leaned, for several long minutes on the railing of the porch before he felt his mind clear enough to return to the house.

The remainder of the day passed uneventfully save for a brief conference between Spock, Uhura, and Scotty, who had finally been coaxed out of hiding once he was sure the “demon beastie” had been tamed, about the materials necessary for what they planned to attempt, the funds needed to purchase those materials, as well as where to hide the considerable funds they were sure to develop. After a joke from Uhura about opening an account in the bank to store the funds, which was well-received by one and not by the other, it was decided that the cash would be stored in the guest room that Spock was currently occupying.

Dr. McCoy discovered a drawer of well-cared for and, to their eyes, ancient, decks of playing cards and immediately challenged Jim to a game, “Any game, I’ll beat your skinny ass at anything you can dream up!” That lead to several hours of card games ranging from poker to a rather strangely named game called Egyptian Ratscrew although it appeared to have nothing to do with the Egyptian people of Earth, rats, or any type of screw. It did, however, reveal something to Spock: a determined human could almost reach the reflexive speed of a Vulcan. Spock was not as on edge as his human companions, Chekov appeared to be vibrating slightly as he gazed intently at the slowly growing pile in the center, but he could not let his guard down or he would miss something.

After the sun had long sunk below the horizon and everyone was aware that it was a bad idea to play poker with Chekov, if you valued your money, or anything related to slapping with Spock, if you valued the nerves in your hands, they came to the mutual agreement that bed time had arrived and Jim began to gather up the scattered decks, he’d separate them tomorrow. Bones had graciously offered to do the dishes after folding, yet again, in poker. His grumbled excuse had been: “The kid’s gonna break me whether I’m here to see it or not, might as well be doin’ something productive.”

Jim yawned and stretched briefly, Spock most certainly did not watch as his shirt rode up to expose a sliver of the flesh of his midsection, and they made their way up the stairs in a comfortable silence. There was a long pause outside Spock’s borrowed room and something, an emotion Spock could not identify, flashed across Jim’s clear eyes like the sparkling tail of a comet and was gone. He grinned almost shyly and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Even in the barely illuminated hallway Spock could see the exotic pink flush that made its way up Jim’s cheeks.

“G’night Spock.” He mumbled not waiting for answer before rushing up the stairs and pulling the door of his bedroom tightly closed behind him.

“Good night Jim.” He whispered into the empty silence.


	9. Revalation

The next week Jim decided to take a few days off work, and Dr. Grayson was glad to hear it. In fact Monday morning, when he was alerted that Jim wasn’t coming in that day he called and all but sang his happiness through the telephone. Jim winced theatrically, holding the offensive electronic device away from his ringing ear before clicking the speaker button and letting his boss’ triumphant voice ring through the house. 

“James Kirk taking a day off willingly. I never thought I’d live to see the day!!” He all but crowed. “Who are these miracle workers? Where did they come from? Why weren’t they here earlier? How long are they staying?! How…”

“Jack. Jack!” Jim cut him off receiving amused looks from his audience. He sighed loudly. “Jack, one, breathe! Two,” He winked a Spock a mischievous grin on his face, “I can be into to work in hour if…”

“No!” Jim’s grin widened. “You keep your ass in that house. I don’t want to see hide nor hair of you for the next three days.”

“Aw, I get it Jack. Any longer than that and you’ll miss me too much. Don’t worry I’ll be back soon.”

“Smart ass.” Came the muttered reply.

“Love you too Jack. See you Thursday.” There was some unintelligible muttering from the phone and Jim set it down in the cradle with a beep. Shaking his head in amusement he turned back to breakfast. There was a long moment of silence before Bones broke.

“Alright Jim, I’ll bite damnit, who the hell was that?” Jim jumped as if the sound of McCoy’s had startled him, though he wasn’t fooling anybody.

“Oh, sorry.” He apologized unconvincingly. “That was just my supervisor Dr. Grayson. He’s always on me about taking more time off. The guy keeps saying I’m gonna hurt myself if I keep going like I am. It really bugged me when I started, but he’s not so bad.” Jim’s smile lost its mischief and faded to concern when he noticed how Spock had tensed.

“Spock, are you alright?” His reached one hand and touched Spock’s arm. He jerked backward and Jim immediately pulled his hand away irrationally hurt by Spock’s reaction.

“I…I…Please excuse me.” His chair fell as he shot upward and one moment he was there his dark eyes filled with emotion and the next he was gone. The rest of the group exchanged confused glances while Jim stared after Spock, gnawing his lip worriedly. He hovered, barely three centimeters over his chair, supporting himself through braced arms and tense thighs. Uncertainty was clear in his gaze and finally Bones couldn’t stand it anymore. He dug a bony elbow into Jim’s side causing the younger man to jump and send him a fierce glare. Rolling his eyes McCoy made a shooing gesture with his hands and eventually pushed Jim off the chair in the direction Spock had gone when the stubborn man refused to move.

With an air of wounded pride, and still clutching his side dramatically, Jim obeyed hoping Spock would be where he thought he was. Sure enough the dark-haired man was sitting on the back porch in that same wicker chair and Jim felt a brief warmth in the pit of his stomach at the sight. It faded quickly though when he noticed Spock’s tight shoulders and clench hands. He slid the door open and stepped out into the brisk air. Spock rose, his back still to Jim, and leaned carefully on the railing.

Shutting the door behind him Jim stepped up next to the taller man. Crossing arms to ward off the chill he pressed his hip into the wooden rail and turned his gaze toward the horizon, Spock’s remained firmly fixed on the ground. They stayed that way for several long minutes before Jim spoke his eyes still turned outward.

“Are you alright Spock?” Pale hands clenched around weathered wood and Jim turned toward his friend who appeared determined to avoid his gaze. “What did I say Spock? Did I do something?” A new sort of tenseness came to the slim body, but Jim continued. “Whatever it was, I’m sorry, so sorry.” Now it was Jim’s turn to focus intently on the ground. “Please, you just have to tell me what it was and I’ll fix it. I can’t handle…” Spock’s gentle fingers on his chin cut Jim off and pulled his head up to meet those deep eyes.

“Jim.” That one sound, his own name, made Jim’s mind go blank. He’d had several minutes of rambling floating around in his brain, but now it was all gone, disappeared and he couldn’t even feel the rough wood of the porch beneath his feet as Spock’s eyes held him. Eventually the cool hand fell away, and some of the spell was broken even though Spock’s eyes had never left Jim. It was as if a wall had come down and turned the swirling pools of deep dark chocolate into solid onyx. “I apologize for causing you to feel as if you had been the reason for my distress. I can assure you, you were not the cause.” Jim, having rediscovered a small portion of his mental facilities, as well as his voice, replied.

“What was then?” Spock released him and turned away, his hand falling back to the top of the railing.

“Your supervisor…” His voice faded. Jim nodded and prompted him to continue.

“Yeah, what about Dr. Grayson?” Spock’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly.

“He shares my mother’s maiden name.” Jim let out a soft ‘oh’ and began to nibble his lip again. Very carefully, slowly he reached out one hand remembering the reaction the last time he had touched Spock. His palm rested delicately across the pale knuckles and his fingers curled down around the side of Spock’s as if their hands were engaged in the lightest of embraces. He felt the digits under his own tense for a moment and then relax.

“I’m sorry Spock.” He squeezed gently as Spock’s lips parted immediately cutting off the response. “You know what I mean!” A tiny smile quirked the corner of Spock’s mouth and they fell into silence. Jim did not remove his hand and neither of them noticed their four nosy friends who had all but pressed themselves up against the door.

Uhura’s eyes grew wide when Jim’s hand touched Spock’s and when the Vulcan didn’t immediately jerk it away she let out a slightly hysterical giggle that was equal parts shocked and amused. Bones grumbled from back in the kitchen, his refusal to spy on them had been worded something along the lines of “I’m a doctor not a nosy housewife!”, as Scott, Sulu, and Chekov all turned toward Nyota with questioning looks.

“Vulcans have incredibly sensitive hands, that’s where most of their telepathic receptors are.” She whispered conspiratorially. Her audience nodded, they had taken, and paid attention in, xenobiology classes at the Academy. “Well, of course Spock’s shielding so that he doesn’t invade Jim’s privacy, and because mental contact is a very intimate thing, but even when there’s no telepathic contact, Vulcans still kiss with their hands.” For a long moment there was a heavy silence. Then McCoy let out a shout that caused the pair outside, even Spock, to jump away from each other.

“What?!” He stormed out of the kitchen red-faced and all but steaming. “You mean to tell me that, that green-blooded hobgoblin is taking advantage of the fact that Jim doesn’t know shit about the fact that he’s an alien to get a little…” Uhura cut him off by digging her nails into his arm. She dragged him deeper into the house.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” The four men, particularly the focus of her ire, dropped their mouths in shock never having heard the petite woman curse. “Did you even think about the fact that Jim could’ve oh, I don’t know, heard you?!” McCoy had the grace to look sheepish, but remained adamant in his anger. Eventually Nyota managed to calm him down and convince him that, “no Spock wasn’t “getting any” through their contact!”

Spock had, of course, heard every syllable of McCoy’s tirade, but he was not aware of the auditory ability of the human standing beside him. As he watched, with bated breath, though he would never admit it, Jim refolded his arms, shivered slightly, and chuckled quietly to himself.

“I wonder who set Bones off.” He said with a weak grin as another shiver wracked his frame. Vulcan’s were poorly equipped for cool weather compared to humans, but Spock had worn not only shoes but a sweater, one of Jim’s although he had purchased several for himself, and a knit cap, also Jim’s. However, the human, illogically, wore only a thin white t-shirt and a pair of checkered pants, most likely what he had slept in, and his feet were bare. Spock immediately pulled open the door and placed one hand on the human’s shoulder to lead him inside.

“You should not be so careless Jim. You may become ill.” The responding smile was not as brilliant as Spock was accustomed to which sent a brief spike of worry through the Vulcan. Perhaps the human already was sick. Jim yielded easily to Spock’s guiding hand and when they had entered excused himself to prepare for the day. Spock nodded, that was logical, and his daily clothing would most likely be much sturdier than his sleepwear. Still, a strange uneasy feeling twisted Spock’s insides as he watched Jim make his way up the stairs, arms folded tightly around himself. Once the human had disappeared from sight he managed to dismiss it and turned in search of another human whose illogical tendency to be…excitable had nearly exposed them all.

Jim was trying so hard not to run, to keep his pace steady and normal, when all he really wanted to do was sprint up those stairs and lock himself in his attic bedroom and never come out. Jim breathed deeply and resisted the urge to look back and see if Spock had turned away yet. He had made it this long without any suspicion; he wasn’t going to screw it up now. As soon as he was sure he couldn’t be seen from the first floor Jim ran. He took the short stairs to his room two at a time and pull the door shut, although it thankfully didn’t slam, that would probably bring someone up to check on him and that was the last thing he needed. Panting, Jim paced back and forth his mind going over and over what he’d heard.

“Oh my God.” He chanted, the words spilling from his lips without conscious thought. His head shook of its own accord. What he’d thought he heard couldn’t be right. Spock couldn’t be an alien; they couldn’t be from the future. It was impossible.

Except it wasn’t. Each time Jim had heard something strange they hadn’t been aware he could hear them. They’d been speaking solely to each other and Spock had looked damn relieved when he’d thought Jim hadn’t been able to understand Bones’ rant.

No. He thought firmly as he sank to the floor against his door hands clasped tight on his knees. Spock is not an alien! I sound like an idiot even thinking that. He couldn’t be an alien. It doesn’t make sense.

Except it did. That explained everything about Spock from his extreme aversion to cold to the tips of his pointed ears. Jim smiled automatically at the thought of Spock’s ears. They were both sexy in an almost exotic way, and absolutely adorable. Jim imagined an entire planet full of people who looked and acted just like Spock and wondered briefly why they didn’t rule the universe in the future because between the logic, that sent your brain reeling in circles more often than not, and the adorable ears, they should have conquered everyone within 10 minutes.

Jim’s mind wandered for several more minutes before he realized…he was okay. The panic had faded just as quickly as it had begun and now all Jim could feel was a quiet acceptance and a growing curiosity. He knew why he was accepting this so easily. He knew why he wouldn’t have the energy to be angry or distant once he finally got downstairs, and it all had to do with one thing, Spock. Jim slouched forward cradling his head on his palms. This time the words came out in a whisper as he let the reality of his feelings finally sink in.

“Oh my God.” 


	10. As You Wish

Spock would never admit, even under torture, that he watched the stairs intently waiting for Jim to return, but he did. Not only did he greatly enjoy the human’s company, but he had an odd…feeling, for lack of a more appropriate term, about Jim’s reaction to Doctor McCoy’s outburst, and Spock had been taught that ignoring your instincts was a greatly illogical thing to do. He wanted to observe for himself that Jim’s reactions toward each of them had not changed which would of course indicate that he had heard nothing of the Doctor’s unfortunate exclamation save the sound of a raised voice. If his reactions had changed however, Spock would most likely have to perform a mind meld, Jim might even be willing to forget, and remove that memory from his mind.

A minuscule portion of Spock was overjoyed at the idea of being able to even briefly brush the sure to be fascinating mind of the dynamic human, but the circumstances under which that connection would occur would constitute his mentally raping Jim. Bile rose at the very thought his stomach roiling violently as the sickly sweet taste stung his throat. He took several deep deliberate breaths through his nose and pushed himself into the shallowest level of mediation in an attempt to control his rebellious body.

There was a possibility that the removal of Jim’s memories would be necessary, even if he hadn’t learned of their origins, and what was necessary was never unwise, or illogical. Spock remembered that lesson well from his childhood, particularly since it had been his father who had taught him. Even now Spock could recall the shame he had felt wanting to curl into a ball under his father’s impassive gaze, but unwillingly to humiliate his family further than he already had by giving into his emotions and attacking the boy who had slandered his parents.

" _Spock what was the purpose of attacking Stonn? All you have proven is that your control over your emotions is as imperfect as he suggests it is.” Spock hung his head and worried his lip, only to hold back a wince when he re-opened the new wound. Steeling himself he straightened up and looked his father in the eye, determined to keep all emotion from escaping._

_“Stonn did not insult my ability to control my emotions Sa-mekh; despite my imperfections I had maintained my control for approximately 1825.25 days until the altercation this morning.” He paused a moment for breath and plunged on not allowing his father a chance to interrupt. “Stonn, having been unsuccessful in his attempts to elicit an emotional response from myself on all previous occasions was prepared with original and unanticipated insults. He informed me that I was the illegitimate offspring of a traitor and a whore. I could not allow the implication that insults toward my family such as this would go unanswered and as all my previous attempts to dissuade him had failed I took the action that I perceived was necessary to protect my family.” Sarek did not show his surprise, or his anger. He had not been informed as to the cause of the mishap between his son and the son of S’Larak and now realized he should not have been so quick to assume the other child had not conveniently forgotten certain aspects of the time period leading up to his ‘attack’._

_Spock did not hang his head, did not show shame as he continued. “Father I realize now that my actions were unwise and illogical. I should have realized that Stonn would not respond anymore positively to a physical dissuasion than he had to my previous ones. I shall of course apologize for my actions.” Now Sarek could read the loathing his son’s body as he said those words, and he was proud, proud of this child he had fathered who, even at such a young age, knew how, to use a human idiom, “pick his battles”. Sarek placed one hand on Spock’s shoulder._

_“S’Larak demands an apology for the perceived slight against his son, and you shall give it to him.” With well-hidden, but not invisible, reluctance Spock nodded. “But I want you to remember this Spock, no matter how an action may be seen by those around you, what is necessary is never unwise.”_

Spock had remembered his father’s words and had attempted to live his life with that in mind. Much to his father’s displeasure those words had been part of the reason he had declined admission to the Vulcan Science Academy, it had been necessary, once again, to prove that Spock would suffer no insults to the members of his house.

Now however, though he knew it may be necessary his entire being rebelled against the idea of forcibly entering Jim’s mind. Should certain circumstances arise it would be wise, logical, and necessary to erase the memories of his visitors from the human’s memory, but as the possible scenarios played out in his mind Spock knew that no matter what may occur he would not be able to bring himself to touch Jim’s mind with the intent to damage.

The quiet speak and thump of Jim’s bedroom door opening and closing jerked him from his writhing thoughts and within seconds the human was trotting down the stairs having dressed himself much more appropriately for the chill weather. He smiled at Spock as he passed and Vulcan followed him into the kitchen, fervently denying, even to himself, that he breathed a deep sigh of relief when it appeared that Jim’s opinion of them, or at least him, had not changed.

While Jim had been dressing and Spock had been caught deep in his thoughts, the breakfast table had been emptied of dishes, each one rinsed and placed into the dishwasher, for which Jim was very grateful. He leaned on the island still clutching his half-empty fifth cup of coffee, which had long grown cold.

“So, today I’m planning to work a little on the truck and then I have to take it back to my parents for a little while, they need it for the harvest. You guys are all welcome to stay or come, but I might not be back until late. They tend to talk me into staying for dinner.” He gave them a slightly sheepish smile and a shrug and turned to make his way toward the garage snatching the truck keys out of a bowl on the counter as he passed. There was a pause where the six travelers from the future simply looked at each other all of them quietly sighing with relief, and then Scotty was off like a phaser blast.

“Jim! Jim, lad. Do ya think ya might be needin any help with that?”

“You got any experience working on old cars Scotty?”

“Not particularly lad, but I’m a quick learner.” The garage door shut on the sound of Jim’s laughter.

The group in the kitchen dissipated rather quickly after that. McCoy produced his PADD from somewhere and stalked off muttering in the screen and Uhura pulled Sulu and Chekov out the patio door, within seconds Spock could hear their inane giggling. He of course would never engage in the social practice known as ‘gossiping’, although his presence would most likely not be welcome for it appeared that he was the subject of the gossip if the glances he had received just before they passed through the doorway were any indication. Strangely enough that gave him the illogical urge to eavesdrop on the gossipers to ascertain exactly what they were saying.

Spock tamped down on that urge angrily; his shipmates were nothing like the Vulcan children of his childhood. Three glances gave no proof that they were talking about him. Perhaps they had simply wondered if he wished to join them and had forgotten he didn’t often pick up on human social cues. No matter the reason for their glances he had no interest in joining an conversation that was sure to be full of useless information and complete and total speculation all underscored by incessant giggling.

No, Spock certainly wanted no part of that. Instead he made his way into the living room and settled into one of Jim’s supremely comfortable chairs. It was large enough that he could fold his legs, one on top of the other, into a meditative position, and, removing his shoes first, he did so. With a long deep breath he prepared to sink into his own consciousness and repair whatever had been damaged from the moment he laid eyes on Jim, if such a repair was possible. He wasn’t sure anymore. A light weight on his lap caused Spock to open his eyes. The silvery tabby Jim had named Artemis appeared to be making herself comfortable in the slight valley where his ankles crossed; as the animal did not appear to require any participation on his part, Spock returned to his meditation allowing the warmth of the feline to travel up through his body and struggled not to compare it to the all-encompassing heat that Jim seemed to carry around with him. Jim who blazed hotter that Vulcan’s dual suns not only against Spock’s body, but in his mind too.

_Jim_

**

Jim stood in the kitchen doorway utterly unaware of the fond, slightly sappy, smile on his face as he watched Spock. The slim man had folded himself into Jim’s favorite easy chair and appeared to be deep in some sort of meditation, at least that’s what Bones had said. Jim couldn’t imagine sitting still long enough to actually become unaware of the world around you and he’d always had a strange resentment for the people that could do it; as if they had found some treasure that he would forever be denied, which was ridiculous, but he didn’t know many of those people so it didn’t really matter. Spock though, Spock was different. Jim felt calmer just watching him, he felt like he could stand there all day without ever moving and just memorize the graceful lines and sharp angles of that elegant face until nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. Without his knowledge Jim’s breathing slowed until it matched the sedate pace of Spock’s own and it was with great reluctance that he walked forward and placed one hand on the strong shoulder. Immediately onyx eyes fluttered open their gaze unfocused and almost hazy, but even as Jim watched the dark chocolate color he loved returned and Spock tilted his head to look up at Jim a question in his gaze.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to let you know that we’re leaving for my parent’s place and wondered if you want to come with me.” Jim’s expression confused Spock, he looked rather anxious, his bottom lip caught between his teeth turning bright red as he worried it. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to of course.” He was quick to reassure. Spock rose fluidly dislodging what had once been a happily snoring cat who, after giving her former pillow an evil glare and a warning hiss, stalked away, tail held high. Neither of the two men had a thought to spare for her, each held captive by the other’s eyes.

“I would be honored to accompany you Jim.” Spock said in a voice so quiet and deep and sensual that Jim felt a soul deep shiver run through him as his mind went blank. Several silent seconds passed before Spock’s eyebrow quirked upwards. That brought Jim out of his stupor and caused him to flush a rather pleasing, in Spock’s opinion, shade of pink. Clearing his throat loudly Jim very deliberately lifted his hand from Spock’s shoulder and led the way across the house and into the garage where everyone else, save McCoy had already piled into the truck.

“About goddamn time! What in hell were you two doing in there?!” Despite the fact that nothing untoward had occurred Spock felt a light flush of heat along his cheekbones as color rose to his face and noticed that Jim was also blushing as he made his way around the front of the cab and clambered in the driver’s side. The doctor, thankfully accepting that his question would receive no answer, gestured for Spock to enter the vehicle, and promptly slid up beside him forcing the Vulcan to press himself next to Jim so that McCoy could close the door. There were several moments of silence as Jim put the car in gear and maneuvered out onto the street and the doctor refused to reclaim the few inches between himself and the door.

Spock subtly shuffled closer to Jim, the doctor tended to carry around a rather pungent aroma of whiskey and tobacco, which was odd because as far as Spock was aware McCoy did not engage in the rather filthy habits that involved tobacco, especially not smoking which was prohibited on a starship due to the recycled air. No matter the reason for the aroma, and despite the fact that most humans would no doubt find it very pleasing, it was quiet strong to Spock’s sensitive olfactory nerves and he almost unconsciously leaned away, pressing closer to Jim who smelled of newly-cut grass and the scent of Vulcan’s deserts just before the first sunrise when Spock knew time paused just a moment to savor the fleeting beauty. How Jim could produce a scent similar to one on a planet which his people would not learn about for at least another century, Spock didn’t know, but he did know that Jim was soft and warm, the heat projecting across the insignificant inches that separated them, and he smelled so wonderful, and Spock was sleepy, so sleepy.

The Vulcan became suddenly rigid in his seat, forcing himself to maintain an equal distance from both men. The fact that he had almost lost control and allowed himself to place his head on Jim’s strong shoulder was unacceptable. For the rest of the short ride to the Parker farm, Spock sat absolutely rigid in his seat, his gaze fixed firmly forward and un-, or barely responsive to any attempt at conversation. Jim’s parents were waiting for them on the porch steps of a quaint little farm house at the end if a long dirt driveway. As they clambered out of the truck, save for Spock who remained as graceful as ever, Jim’s mother stepped forward, with a wide smile, to embrace her son before pulling a surprised Chekov into a hug as well.

“I’m so glad you all decided to come, and I’m sure Jim has a plan on how to get you all back after he leaves the truck here.” He man in questioned turned slightly pink and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, looking everywhere but at the rest of the group.

“Well, um…”

“Oh never mind.” His mother interrupted, in response to which Jim breathed a sigh of relief. “Come in everybody. Come in. The boys are already out in the fields, but you can get started in the garden Jim.”

“Excuse me?” The group turned as one from where they had gathered behind Mrs. Parker on the wide wooden porch, to face the pouting man frozen on the bottom step. His mother just gave him a look.

“You heard me darling. Those vegetables aren’t going to pick themselves.” With that she started back into the house Chekov on one arm, Uhura on the other, and Sulu and Scotty close behind. Bones smirked down at Jim before following leaving only Spock looking unsure in the doorway. Jim laughed at the torn look on his face.

“Go ahead Spock. She doesn’t bite and I’ll be fine. I’m sure she’ll let me come in after only a short while.” Spock seemed appeased and nodded gently before stepping inside and allowing the screen and heavy wooden door to swing closed behind him.

The day was pleasant, despite Jim’s absence. Mrs. Parker, “Christina!” as she had insisted lead them to a cozy parlor with a wide picture window that overlooked the fields where workers were busily harvesting as well as the large, carefully tended garden in which Jim and his father had begun their own work. Several hours passed in quiet chatter which Spock found himself enjoying despite his usual distaste for small talk. Jim’s mother had regaled them with rather amusing anecdotes of Jim’s childhood and they in turn had given her highly edited descriptions of their lives before Jim had found them on that lonely highway. Despite the fact that he was far from unhappy with the company, and he should be more carefully monitoring his companion’s conversation for accidental slip-ups, Spock found his gaze drawn, more and more often, to Jim’s pleasing form through the clear glass. He had long ago abandoned his winter coat and now bent to his task in nothing more than a thin sweater, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes sparkled as he laughed and the golden strands of his hair captured the sun’s rays so that they shimmered out through his skin again and a halo of light formed around him. The muscles of his stomach and shoulders rippled as he stretched and Spock had to turn away as Jim entered so that his stuttering breathing was not so evident.

“Hey everyone, y’all having a good time in here without me?”

“The conversation would have been much more pleasant had you been a part of it Jim.” Spock couldn’t stop the words; they spilled out of his mouth against his will. He had never lost control of his speech before and his cheeks flushed as he glanced down. The movement caused him to miss the softening of Jim’s eyes and the sweet smile on his face.

“Thanks, Spock.” A brief silence followed, filled with amused glances until Jim got ahold of himself enough to address the room again. “Well, the boys are heading home Ma and Dad and I got most of the garden done; that’s sitting in the kitchen.”

“Is it really that late already?” She appeared genuinely shocked and Jim nodded, chuckling

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m gonna head over to the orchard, any of you guys wanna tag along?” Bones set down his well-sweetened teacup and looked thoughtful for a moment. / “I think I could go some good, old-fashioned apple-picking. Whatcha think Scott?”

“Aye, that sounds like a grand time.”

In the end Uhura and Chekov decided to stay behind and help with dinner while Spock and Sulu also decided to ride along for the apple picking though the Asian man kept sending furtive glances towards the kitchen as they made their way out. The back of the truck was packed full of empty wicker baskets at which Spock quirked an eyebrow and Jim shrugged and laughed.

“No Spock, I don’t think we’ll fill all or even half of them, but I enjoy apple picking and I decided to be optimistic and over-enthusiastic today.” With that he swung himself into the driver’s seat, and, once everyone had been properly situated, pulled onto the narrow dirt path between the browning fields. The ride was short and comfortably quiet; the chill evening wind whistled through the open windows. Spock shivered almost imperceptibly and Jim handed him the jacket slung across his lap that he had grabbed, but decided not to wear when they left the house.

With a look of surprised gratitude, Spock slid the coat over his own and unconsciously began to deeply inhale the culmination of scents that was Jim. He remained blissfully aware of Jim’s side-glances and pleased smile, as well as the knowing smirks of those in the back seat.

The orchard stood at the end of the fields and was made up of several rows of apple trees, each branch bending low under the weight of their fruit. The long ladders were stored in a specially made shed and Jim gave Scotty, Sulu, and Bones two ladders, reminding them to leave one person on the ground at all times, and took the other for himself and Spock. The process was long and strange, as none of them were any sort of professional apple picker, but it involved bumps, bruises, laugher, and all the other things that serve for a good bonding experience between young men.

The sun’s scarlet, darkened rays were shining low through the branches when Jim’s head suddenly shot up to cast his gaze out over the soldier-like trees. A wide, boyish smile took over his face as he began to clamber down the ladder to Spock, who was perfectly happy holding the ladder and looking upwards as Jim attempted to prove that he was more like his simian ancestors than the rest of the human race. The frail-looking ladder quivered worryingly as Jim descended it at a pace that was not only dangerous, but, Spock was sure, unnecessary.

“Jim please refrain from traveling so quickly down the ladder. You shall injure yourself.”

“No, Spock! We’ve gotta move fast or we’re gonna miss it. Come on!” With that he leapt down the last five rungs and clasped Spock’s gloved hand in his own bare one before tugging the flushing Vulcan through the well-ordered rows to a specific tree that was older, taller, and not as perfectly cared for as its fellows. There appeared to be planks of wood nailed into the trunk of the tree, forming, what appeared to be, a very primitive ladder. Immediately Jim began to scramble upwards only stopping when he realized Spock was not following.

“Spock? Spock! Come on!”

“Jim that does not appear to be a…”

“Spock! I know, I know, it’s not safe. I got that, but look at it this way: if you come with me and I fall or something gives way you can catch me more immediately instead of waiting until I almost hit the ground.” They stared at each other for several long moments and between silently passed the acknowledgement of the translucency of Jim’s argument and the fact that Jim didn’t care. In resignation Spock placed a hand on the bottom-most rung, his gaze still locked with the blue eyes above him.

“What gives you such certainty that I should make any attempt to obstruct your fall should either scenario arise?” Jim laughed brightly and turned back to his climb which, to Spock’s well-hidden surprise, ended in a sturdily-built wooden structure with a thick trapdoor to cover the opening in the floor, apparently designed for entry and exit, as well as heavy dark curtains to block the wide windows, which Jim was pulling closed. Spock stood completely still as the golden-haired human flitted from opening to opening; his gaze flickered between Jim, as he placed a piece of wood with a single hole the size of a man’s thumb over the final window, and the strange contraption in the center of the room. Each piece was made from a clear material, plastic, most likely, taking into account the time period, save for the topmost piece which was vaguely pyramidal, but with several more sides, Spock couldn’t be bothered to count them at the moment because the light of the setting sun had somehow pierced the room and brushed Jim with liquid so that he shone like the angels of Earth’s mythology. A few more adjustments were made, the glow disappeared, before Jim nodded in satisfaction and grabbed Spock’s hand once again to pull him to his side.

“Ok, you ready?” In response to the excitement-laced question, Spock raised one eyebrow.

“I must confess to the negative as I am unaware as to what I should have been prepared for.”

”Ugh!” Jim swung the hand he had yet to release into the air in frustration. “Never mind Spock! Just watch.”

“As you wish, Jim.”

There was a long silence where Jim stared intently at the slab of wood he had placed in front of the window and Spock wondered exactly what they were meant to be watching for, but decided not to voice his inquiry. After a time the sun’s light slipped through the tiny break in the wood and sent a shaft of white-light into the strange contraption and the light split into a multitude of rainbows, each one touching a different area of the room. Spock and Jim stepped forward as one and while he acknowledged that prisms were scientifically intriguing and this multi-sided one was expertly crafted and used, Spock couldn’t help but feel that it was a rather anticlimactic conclusion. Jim’s free hand flicked a switch on the prism’s invisible platform and the entire contraption began to rotate, casting the colors on the walls, much like a human disco ball. Now Spock was taken aback, something so simple, his father had given him a prism when he was only 4 Terran years of age, had suddenly become something new and interesting. And beautiful. The thought came unbidden as the lights played over the dips and curves of Jim’s face. Without a thought Spock stepped in front of Jim and glanced at their still-joined hands. Jim flushed, but made no move to release Spock’s hand. However, with the other one he reached up to cup the angled features. Some-one took a step closer and their breath mingled in the limited space between them. Jim leaned forward, his eyes on Spock’s lips, but the man in question held him slightly back.

“Jim, I must tell you…”

“That you’re an alien, or something like that?” Jim asked his finger tracing the shape of one pointed ear beneath the skullcap and then pressing underneath so that the garment slid up and off before dropping to the floor.

“I know.”

Jim caressed the edge of his ears, ignoring the expression of pure shock on Spock’s face, and with an irritated tug he freed Spock’s fingers from the gloves and wrapped them with his own, relishing, but not understanding, the hitched breath from his companion. One hand looped around the back of the long graceful neck and the other tightened its grip on long, elegant fingers. Jim drew them closer together, breathing in the heady scent…

“I don’t care.”

And pressed his lips to Spock’s.


	11. Connection

Spock was aware of the human tradition of kissing with the lips; his mother had often placed gentle kisses on his forehead and cheeks when he was young, particularly when illness due to his human genes would affect him. He was also, of course, aware that Vulcans completed the equivalent of human kissing with their fingers and hands due to the high number of telepathic receptors in that area; in his adolescence an equally young Vulcan female had presented the logical argument that practice, being the only way to derive perfection, was necessary for when they became adults. Spock had been forced to agree in the face of her logic despite the fact that he had no intention of pursuing a romantic bond with her at any period in time, and his father had told him that particular motion was reserved only for those who maintained a romantic bond or intended to forge one. Nevertheless Spock had presented his paired index and middle finger, and she had responded.

He’d found the experience…disturbing.

Her fingers had been rough against his own and her mind had been simultaneously distant and clingy. Her immature consciousness had flooded his; drowning his own thoughts and observations with her intent to delve into his mind and find his emotions. Realizing her reasons for requesting this action of him, Spock had immediately pulled away and, as he abandoned the other child, made the decision never to allow another Vulcan, much less a female, such intimate access to himself again.

Jim, however, was no Vulcan, and he certainly was no female. The connections between their grasped hands tingled through Spock’s body and he felt the gentle press of Jim’s consciousness, totally unaware, at the edge of his own. Tentatively he probed forward alerting the colorful human mind to his foreign presence. For a moment the glittering lights and shining colors, some of which had no name, of Jim’s conscious and subconscious recoiled from him, but something sparked recognition and after a moment they cautious returned to brush against him.

_Spock?_

In the physical reality of their interaction Jim pulled back, his hand still cupping the elegant neck, to look Spock in the eye. With a slight inclination of his head in acknowledgement of the question, Spock sent a rush of his own pleasure down their connection which was quickly followed by a splash of smugness as Jim’s eyes rolled backward and his entire body shuddered. In retaliation Jim crushed their lips back together, aligning their entire bodies, and stroked his fingers along Spock’s having somehow discovered that was the origin of the connection.

They stayed there, completely oblivious to the passing time, locked in the shared embrace, until the sun had sunk low beyond the horizon and the slightly panicked voices of their companions were calling for them through the shadowed orchard. Spock was the first to pull back, the voice of Dr. McCoy tearing him from whatever strange trance this bewitching human had placed him under. His internal senses struggled to regain knowledge of his surroundings, but at the moment they could do no better than educated guesses. Spock colored violently, his cheeks flushing a brilliant viridian. Jim smiled sweetly and lifted their joined hands to brush the back of his fingers over the swell of color on the alabaster skin.

“We should go?” Spock stiffened his posture and nodded sharply in response which only made Jim laugh as the blush refused to fade. They meandered over to the trapdoor and the smile faded from Jim’s face and it was his turn to flush at an inquiring look from Spock. In response he lifted their hands, gaze still averted.

“I don’t want to let go.” Spock glanced from Jim to the opening and back again before, with utterly inhuman movements, twisted the blonde man around so that Jim’s arm crossed over his chest to meet Spock’s where it passed under his back for support while the other lifted his knees. The result was a rather confused Jim cradled gently in Spock’s embrace as the Vulcan stood at the edge of the entrance to the tree-house. Jim stared worriedly at the point below where the ground disappeared into the black fog of dusk.

“Spock, what are you thinking? Spock, No!” He felt the slim body beside him tense and curled himself into Spock’s chest refusing to watch his death approaching and determined that if he was going to die it would at least be the in place he was happiest. There was a brief rush of hair, the sound of a quiet impact, then stillness. Jim refused to move, to even open his eyes.

_I’m dead. I’m dead. Oh God, I’m dead. That alien bastard killed me! Maybe he’s dead too, and we can be happy and dead together._

“I assure you k’diwa, I have in no way harmed either of us, and my parents were bound to each other in the customs of many different planets and cultures, including Earth, at the time of my birth.” Jim’s eyes shot open and he gaped at Spock only to have a faint amusement that was not his own echo through his mind.

“You…you’re in my head. How are you in my head?” Spock appeared upset for the briefest flash of a moment before his expression hardened, though he refused to look at Jim.

“Vulcan’s are a highly telepathic race, but only through touch. The majority of our telepathic receptors are centered in our hands and fingertips. Humans, while not having developed the ability to use them efficiently, also have a number of telepathic receptors, but most are clustered around your temples with only a small number in your hands. This is why human ‘psychics’ often press their fingers to their temples in order to better access these receptors. When two areas with these receptors meet it is very simple for one with the correct knowledge, such as myself, to establish a mental connection between the two beings involved. I apologize for invading your privacy Jim, but should you wish to dissolve the connection you shall have to release my fingers, I do not wish to break yours.”

With a degree of hesitance Jim released his death-grip on Spock’s fingers and repressed a wince as the comforting presence he had barely noticed at the back of his mind was torn away, leaving him feeling strangely empty. For Spock the effect of the dropped connection was much greater, though he refused to display that he had been at all affected by the loss. Truthfully, as the light of Jim’s mind was ripped away something inside Spock cried out in desperate, primal, heart-wrenching pain that made him understand why the action of Vulcan kissing was associated only with those who had already formed or intended to form a romantic bond for they would either be melding to create the full bond soon or would have already done so. There would be no pain, because they would not part.

Spock’s mental strength shuddered against the urge to end the pain forever; to press his fingertips to the smooth skin alongside the side of Jim’s face, slightly hidden by his fringe. The golden head still lay softly against his shoulder and the press of his temple, even through the layers he wore, sent shivers of pleasure along his nerves and tantalized him with the knowledge that Jim and his shining mind were so close, so close. The voices of his searching shipmates were a shock, not that Jim noticed, and Spock carefully set the human on his feet. He received a smile and a sweet kiss as Jim stepped off into the darkness, following the sound of the searchers.

Spock stood at the base of the tree for several long seconds organizing and analyzing all that had occurred in such a sort amount of time, by the standards of any species. This human called to him as no other being had ever done in all the years, Vulcan or Terran, of his life. Spock was inexperienced, not ignorant. He understood perfectly that his feelings for Jim could be nothing but romantic in nature, but he saw many complications in the possible future. What would occur when the equipment they intended to build was finished? How would his companions react to his formation of a romantic relationship with a Terran, of the past?

_This experience shall perhaps make it easier for myself to form bonds of companionship with those around me_. Spock reasoned, recognizing that he had a habit of keeping to himself and that charisma was a quality valued in Star Fleet leaders. Jim could teach him that.  _And Jim…Jim will be better off when I am gone. He shall move on and find the Terran woman with whom he will father George Kirk’s ancestors. I shall be nothing more than a memory, for I could not bear to take his memories now._

Satisfied with his logic, and spurred by some protective instinct not to leave Jim alone in the dark for too long, Spock stepped after the faint outline he could see of his k’diwa’s form. Even in the moonlight his hair glinted golden, each precious strand glowing as if illuminated from within. Jim turned as he spotted the lights borne by the search party, and turned back to Spock a sparkle in his eyes and his hand outstretched; an invitation. Spock took his hand without hesitation and, for only a second, let his eyes slip closed as colours and light and warmth returned to his mind. The pain of separation would dull over time, and he would take every moment of it to share this connection with Jim.

Together, hand in hand, they stepped out into the glare of flashlights.


	12. Love

Spock was amazed, though he would not admit it, by his shipmate’s easy acceptance of the relationship between Jim and himself. All had expressed their congratulations and even a few, unprecedented Spock felt, exclamations of “Finally!” All, that is, save Doctor McCoy. The normally garrulous human had been almost disturbingly silent as they made their way back to the Parkers' home. Spock didn’t fight his gratitude as the illuminated windows broke the black line of the horizon. He had begun to lose control over his body’s reaction to the chill weather, especially without the slight warmth of the little yellow sun, and it was with a suppressed shiver that he stepped into the living room of the quaint country house.

He remained even as the others pressed onward into the kitchen from which the smell of cooking meat overwhelmed the scent of sautéing vegetables, unwilling to relinquish the heat of the roaring fire in the stone fire place. Jim, having shed his outer garments and dressed again only in the thin sweater and undershirt which did nothing to insulate Spock from the tempting heat of his body, reached around Spock to gently rub his opposite shoulder and upper arm. While the action itself was insufficient to stimulate effective warmth, the press of Jim’s arm against his back and his chest along his shoulder was enough to send a wave of heat through Spock’s entire body.

What was this human doing to him?

To make matters worse Jim smiled at him and Spock was unable to resist the soft tug on his jacket, revealing his own many-layered sweaters. The coat was hung in a small closet and Jim returned, his lips still twisted into a gentle grin, and tilted his head to the side so a golden curl fell, like a shaft of sunlight, across his forehead. Spock’s hand began to rise of its own accord to brush the wayward curl back among its fellows when a voice shattered whatever haze had come over his senses simultaneously dulling and sharpening them so he was unaware of the existence of any other life forms save himself and Jim, but he could register every minute detail of Jim’s face.

“Jimmy! Come help with the table!” The man in question jumped his eyes going wide, and ran a shaky hand nervously through his hair.

“Well,” the word came out as a breathy sigh, “come on.” With that he turned and led Spock into the dining room where they worked quickly and quietly to set the large mahogany table. Dinner was excessive, and delicious, even Spock had to admit, and there was so much chatter around the table that no one seemed to notice Jim’s unusual silence or the way Spock’s gaze had to be pulled away from where it had almost drifted to the man beside him.

Neither had any intention to withhold their budding relationship, but they assumed those who arrived before them had taken the liberty of announcing it and Spock felt certain that it was considered rude to stare at one’s partner while dining at said partner’s parents’ table. That being said, when Jim’s fingers twitched in his direction and then clenched tightly into a fist on his thigh, noticed in his peripheral vision, Spock did not hesitate to turn his own hand palm up on the borrowed jeans. Jim reached over and pressed their palms together so Spock’s fingers brushed over the back of his hand. Their clasped hands hung in the space between them and Spock had the strangest urge to shake his head. The action was juvenile by human standards, Terran children would often hold hands with other children, but to Vulcans it was just on the safe side of publically decent and certainly in appropriate at the dinner table.

When Jim’s mother noticed, however, she expressed her excitement at a decibel which made Spock’s sensitive ears ring for several moments after the sound, similar to the wailing of a klaxon, had ended. Unfortunately Lieutenant Uhura was inclined to duplicate her, grabbing onto Mr. Scott’s clothing and demanding to know why he hadn’t told her.

“Well, Christ lassie,” He responded rubbing frantically at his ear and neck. “we didn’t think the lads would be so secretive about it; didn’t want to spoil the surprise for them. Sure as hell didn’t think they were gonna wait until almost dessert to spill.” Spock’s eyebrows furrowed and he glanced surreptitiously around to locate the item which had been up-ended near them. Jim laughed and squeezed his hand.

“It’s an expression, Spock. It means to make interesting news or what was formerly a secret general knowledge.” Spock fought his flush.

“Illogical.” He said, his voice unemotional and chilled as the air outside, but Jim just laughed again.

“Yeah, yeah it is.” He turned to engage Lieutenant Sulu in conversation his hand never leaving Spock’s, even as they rose and made their way into the fire-warmed living room and a tray of steaming hot chocolate was passed around the room. Spock caught the aroma from where he and Jim were seated on a plush love-seat, long before Mrs. Parker entered the room and announced the drink. As the watched the tray pass closer and closer to his position he made the decision to partake in a small amount of the drink. It would be rude to refuse outright and he could claim that he was unable to finish because of the size of the meal he had just consumed, if necessary. That should be sufficient to limit the debilitating effects of chocolate on his physiology.

Unfortunately Spock had made two grievous errors in his reasoning. The first was that he had failed to calculate in the warmth of Jim’s body, pressed close to his own by the dip of the couch cushions, and the intoxicating effect of the effect of pure cocoa on his mixed physiology. It wasn’t long until Spock was pleasantly warm and drowsy and nudging his hand up under Jim’s shirt to feel that beautiful golden skin, to get more of that wonderful, sparkling connection. The human’s hand was heavy on his shoulder and his arm, lying along the back of the couch, surrounding Spock in heat. He breathed deeply, pulling Jim’s scent, its singular components unidentifiable through the haze in his brain, into himself and illogically wished exhalation was not a requirement of his body and he could hold the sweet air within him perpetually.

There was a gentle buzz of conversation around them, which Spock only aware of in the slightest way. All of his intense, though slightly hindered by inebriation, Vulcan concentration was focused on the man beside him; specifically, at this moment, the musky scent of the skin in the dip created by the conjunction of his throat and shoulder. As Spock snuggled into Jim’s side there was a small part of his mind that recognized that his behavior was completely inappropriate for any sort of public setting, much less one including Jim’s parents and his own shipmates. But that idea was quickly brushed aside when a fleeting sparrow of a thought flitted through his mind.

_I should conduct an experiment to determine if Jim tastes as wonderful as his scent implies._

With that a rough, green-tinged, tongue, the tip of it barely peeking through the parting of his lips, swiped the golden column before him relishing in the realization that Jim was superior to all other humans in both scent and taste; in addition to his many other attributes. To his credit Jim gave very little indication of Spock’s action: a small flinch, a tightening of his fingers where they stroked silky ebony strands, and an incredulous glance were his only visible reactions, and he worked very, very hard to keep his thoughts from his face.

Almost desperately he glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and held back an audible sigh to relief at the fact that it was late enough that they could make their excuses without being reasonably detained. He jumped into the conversation and managed to eventually assert that it was near reaching that ridiculous point where it was so late it was early and it was probably best for everyone if they headed back now; citing the yawning Chekov, who glared adorably at, as an example that it was past bedtime.

Spock managed to, somehow, rise to his feet, with almost his usual grace, and politely thank Jim’s parents for opening their house to them and the delicious meal. Jack Parker narrowed his eye at the stranger, he was still a stranger in his book, who was all but leaning on his son, as he had been for the entirety of the evening, not exactly innocently, and who Jimmy couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from. As they turned to exit the house he called out and knew from the sudden sharp set of Jim’s shoulders that there was a high possibility he had overstepped the “dad” boundaries Jim had marked off in his mind, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

“Don’t you think there’s maybe one more thing you might need to be thanking us for?” The rest of the group, most of whom had already passed through the doorway turned back to stare; their eyes watching a frantic tennis match between the surely murderous look on Jim’s face and his father just behind, no doubt calculating the odds that a pleasant evening might end in familial bloodshed. Spock however, simply paused, turned his gaze to Jim and brushed his fingers down the side of his face, causing the tight shoulders to relax slightly. Without tearing his gaze from Jim, Spock responded, very quietly, almost in a whisper.

“Yes sir.” There was awe in his tone, and his hand traveled down Jim’s arm to entwine their fingers as he continued, genuinely. “Thank you.”

With that they were gone, the door swinging shut behind them, the truck engine revving loudly until it faded into the distance, and Christina all but shrieking in his ear about “How inappropriate!” and “Who do you think you are?!” and “If you ostracize my son I swear to God I’ll…”, but Jack didn’t care. The stranger had passed. Whatever this rapid romance was based on it was solid and strong; there was love. There had been no thought behind the honest answer. No weighing of possibilities. No waxing poetic about how Jim was a miracle who had dropped into his arms and he didn’t need his parents to define him, which he didn’t of course but that was beside the point. There had been none of those little speeches specifically designed to make a teenager on their first date swoon, only honest awe at how he had become to lucky. Even Jack could see it, and he was a backwoods hick farmer, and an old man, and above all a father so it must have been pretty obvious if he had seen it so clearly. Passing his wife with a kiss on her cheek, Jack settled himself into his wide armchair, a satisfied smile on his wizened face blue eyes sparkling in the light of the dying fire.

“Jonathan Andrew Parker are you listening to me?!” Despite her age Christina still had the ability to reach decibels with which the human ear was rather uncomfortable, when her ire was aroused, but to her surprise her husband didn’t jump or growl back at her as he was wont to do when they argued, those times so rare now. Instead he turned to her, with invitingly open arms, and made perhaps the simplest and most revealing statement ever uttered in relief by a human parent.

“They love each other.” Anger and energy drained from her in a moment and she all but collapsed into the welcoming circle of his arms.

“Oh Jack.” She sighed with a fond smile, pressing her head onto his shoulder. The fire crackled pleasantly in the comfortable silence as each drifted away, consumed by their own thoughts, but content in the knowledge that their son had hopefully finally found whatever it was had been missing for so many years.

-

Jim’s own thoughts were torn between wanting to go back and at least smack his father for that remark, kissing Spock senseless for his response, or laughing as the usually so composed and graceful man struggled to complete even the most basic task of climbing into a car through his inebriation. There was nothing else it could be, and there was absolutely no way Spock could be drunk or even tipsy. Wine had been served at dinner, but the dark-haired man had stuck strictly to water, and then a little hot chocolate afterwards. He hadn’t even finished the entire cup of that. The only explanation was that someone had spiked Spock’s after-dinner drink, but no one but Jim and his parents knew the location of the liquor cabinet and besides no one would have played such a rotten trick. But there was no other way to explain…

“Did Spock get drunk of hot chocolate?” Bones, who was closest to Jim, jumped at the sudden question and sighed explosively, running a hand over his face.

“Yeah. Yeah, he did.” The doctor stared at the normally stoic man who was now gazing around from his seat in truck with what, for Spock, could only be described as wide-fascination. Jim opened his mouth, and closed it again just as quickly, waving away his question with a swipe of his hand.

“Never mind, this can all wait until tomorrow.” Jim said with conviction. “Basic hangover cures?” He called back to Bones’ slightly stunned face, hating it when the older man quirked a single eyebrow, he couldn’t do that!

“You’re taking this really well kid.” The doctor said, stopping Jim a few feet from the open door of the vehicle. The blonde man shrugged and, smiling, pulled himself up beside Spock.

“Yeah I guess I am.”

-

It was a struggle to get Spock back into the house when they arrived, particularly up the stairs, and everyone else seemed suddenly incredibly tired; more than willing to let Jim struggle along by himself. Spock was heavy! More so than made sense for his size and especially considering how much and exactly what he ate at meals, and he was also perfectly content to attempt to snuggle completely into Jim’s hair and neck while the blonde man struggled. When they reached the door of Spock’s borrowed room his grip somehow tightened even further and Jim was eventually forced to admit defeat and drag them both up the steps to his own bedroom. Spock’s eyes lit up at the sight of Jim’s bed and he pulled them both down on the blankets, arms tight around Jim’s torso, only barely allowing him enough room to bed down and relieve them both of their shoes, pulling the ridiculous skull-cap away as an afterthought.

The stars twinkled brightly down on them from the skylight and Spock, in their white light, appeared even more alien and even more beautiful than he had under the rainbow if lights in the tree-house. Dark eyes glittered up at him and Jim couldn’t help the hand that reached out to brush Spock’s bangs from his face, the motion ending with a caress of the pointed tip of his ear. A strange sound, almost like a purr, resonated from Spock’s throat and he shuffled forward, tucking his head beneath Jim’s chin and promptly falling asleep.

Jim smiled and sighed, knowing all the questions flitting around his brain could wait until the morning, stroking Spock’s hair one more time, it was ridiculously soft, before pulling the lean body tighter to him and laying his own head atop the ebony one as he drifted into dreams. The stars winked on above them, unaware that for the first time in almost 20 years their most faithful observer had spared them neither thought nor glance.


	13. Vulcan

Jim slid into consciousness, stretching luxuriously and finding his bed both warmer and more empty than expected. Cerulean eyes popped open and took in the covering tucked carefully around him as well as the tightly latched bedroom door, which Jim was absolutely positive he hadn’t shut last night. With a sigh and a shudder as his feet came in contact with the chill floor, Jim stood and, wrapping the thick duvet around his shoulders, made the trek down the short flight of stairs to where Spock was sitting, as he expected, on the edge of the bed in Jim’s guest room the black skull cap twisted between his long fingers. A shiver caressed Jim’s spine as he thought about those fingers and everything he had learned last night. Desperate to get his frozen toes off the floor he knelt on the bed and tucked himself up against Spock’s back and wrapping his arms around strong, straight shoulders so they were both cloaked in the duvet. From here he could see that Spock’s hair was still damp from a shower and for some reason that was incredibly endearing.

“Are you alright Spock?” There was a quiet huff of air in response, and Jim figured that was as close as Spock got to sighing.

“I must apologize for my actions last night Jim.” The human went rigid, ice running through his veins for a split second. Getting control of his emotions Jim managed to respond with a voice that was mostly steady.

“You mean after you drank the hot chocolate? Cause Bones and I kinda talked about that.” Now it was Spock’s turn to stiffen, which Jim was amazed was possible considering how rigid the dark-haired man had been before.

“I see, and what conclusion did you draw from your conversation with Dr. McCoy?” Jim frowned in confusion, though he knew Spock couldn’t see it, and tucked his head against the back of Spock’s neck, the intimacy of that action mostly irrelevant considering what had happened the night before.

“There wasn’t so much of a conclusion. I guessed that you got drunk off of the chocolate or something in it and he confirmed it for me, that’s all.”

“You are not disturbed?”

“No, Spock. Of course not.” Jim could almost hear Spock’s eyebrows in the silence that followed his response.

“I find myself missing approximately 2.87 hours of memories from last night and it is a disquieting sensation. I fear I have much to apologize for.” Jim had to bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Spock, you were fine. All that happened is you got a little overly affectionate with me, and even then it wasn’t anything really.” Jim bit his lip in the silence that followed, noting that Spock’s muscles remained tight, and decided to amend his statement. “At least it wasn’t by human standards, I’m guessing that intimacy is a little different where you’re from.” With that he began to draw back, pulling his arms from around Spock, but long fingers caught each of his wrists in a tight grasp, holding him still.

“Your assessment is not inaccurate. However there is much to discuss, and it would perhaps be prudent to continue in the presence of the others so as to compile a more complete narrative.” Jim nodded against Spock’s shoulder as his wrists were released, and began to scoot backwards off the bed. As he was making to stand Spock turned in a move almost too fast for the human’s eye to catch and latched onto him again, the grip around his forearm this time. “Jim, I do not wish for you to feel that I have been offended. Please believe that I have…enjoyed all our interactions.” Jim leaned down to press a kiss to the back of the pale hand and hopped off the bed, dragging the duvet and grinning.

\--

Breakfast was a small affair, conducted quickly and in a slightly tense silence so that they could gather in the living room, Jim sprawling regally in his armchair as the others took various seats around the room. For a long moment there was nothing but expectant silence, which no one seemed willing to break, until Jim sighed and leaned forward clasping his hands on his knees.

“Alright, talk.”

The conversation was long and strangely uninterrupted. Save for a few quiet, pertinent, questions, Jim seemed perfectly happy to let them speak, his gaze intent on whoever had the floor. He laughed when Nyota sheepishly explained what she had actually been doing in the bank and his eyes lit up with interest when Scotty mentioned building the transporter, but other than that he did nothing and for Spock that was more unnerving than if he had ranted or screamed, any typical human reaction. Instead he remained calm, rational and once it appeared all had been explained he easily began a discussion with Mr. Scott on what materials were needed for the transporter, which ones could be found or fabricated in this century, which could be replaced with easier to find materials, and what the cost would be. Unfortunately the later was a hefty sum, so much so that Jim let out a high pitched whistle at the final tally.

“I’m more than willing to, and capable of, buying a lot of what we need, and working at NASA especially with the reputation I have no one will even blink an eye, but some of it…” He trailed off his bottom lip bearing the brunt of his dilemma. “I think the best way to get some of the more expensive and volatile stuff will be for me to just bulk order it at work and take what we need from there. I know,” he raised a hand to forestall any arguments, “this is hardly the best of plans but Grayson kind of expects me to steal stuff now, and we’re all a lot less likely to get caught if we do it this way. Cause nobody pays with cash for stuff like that, except, you know, terrorists, and we really don’t want any more attention than we absolutely have to deal with.” There was a long moment of stunned silence following his little speech.

“Your plan is the best of those options open to us, and you have our gratitude for your willingness to take part, but I believe I am correct in stating that none of us wish you to endanger yourself for our sake Jim.” The blonde human reached the short distance between his chair and Spock’s chosen seat, to wrap his hand around Spock’s, their palms pressed together, and after a moment of hesitation the long fingers returned the embrace.

“I’ll be fine, I promise. If anyone asks what I’m doing I’ll tell them I’ve got a starship crew from the future and their alien captain holed up at my house and I’m gathering parts to help them build a futuristic device to get them back home.” That garnered a laugh from everyone but Spock, whose face became even more inscrutable than usual, and planning began in earnest with Jim somehow convincing Scott to explain the design of the transporter, down to the tiniest details, having managed to talk himself onto the project without a single protest. Approximately 20.54 minutes into the discussion, Spock rose, Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura having deserted their seats as well, and made his way out onto the back porch, missing the way Jim’s eyes followed him. He was familiar with the internal and external workings of transporter technology but with Lieutenant Sulu, Ensign Chekov, Commander Scott, and now Jim working on the project it was unlikely that his expertise would be needed, especially considering the fact that he had never particularly excelled at mechanics, for a Vulcan.

Spock sat carefully on the swing he and Jim had occupied no more than a week ago. His internal clock must be malfunctioning for it seemed so much more time had passed between that moment and this one. Surely months, if not years, had gone by? Resigning himself to meditation Spock folded his legs agilely, rocking the seat slightly but determining that the slight movement was no cause to change his location. Slowing his breathing, Spock attempted to sink into his mind and organize the chaos created by his unconscious thoughts which hammered relentlessly at his control. The image of Vulcan appeared in his mind, he would soon have to create another focus point for his meditation as the mental image was more than enough to fuel the battle on his emotional control , but for now he focused on the salan-mazhiv mountains which he had always been able to see from his bedroom window, overlooking the gardens where his mother liked to work. He could see the shudder of an avalanche in the hills before him, could feel the quiver of the land as the rocks tumbled, and hear the distance clash of boulder against boulder briefly drowning out the whisper of leaves and the swish of fabric in his mother’s dress below. The dual suns were nearing an eclipse, their white light illuminating specks of precious metal in the red sands and heating the stone beneath…an icy breezy cut through Spock, ending his concentration and shattering the image so abruptly and Spock gasped quietly, but loud enough to alarm Jim who was standing just outside the door.

“Spock? Are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you…”

“It was not a result of your actions, I should not have begun my meditation in a place so contrary to Vulcan while I continued to use it as my focus point.” Spock shifted so that Jim could sit beside him, the human holding out the dark beanie which apparently had been left in the living room. Mimicking Spock’s crossed legged position, Jim shifted so he was perched precariously sideways on the swing, the position putting him constantly in danger of flipping himself off onto the deck.

“So, Vulcan? Like the Roman god of the forge?”

“Indeed, though I do not believe that was the origin of the human name for my planet. It is most likely a coincidence.” Jim’s head cocked to the side, his hair falling into his eyes in a way that Spock would not admit was endearing.

“Why?”

The name for our planet in the Vulcan language is Vuhlkansu, so because of the similar sounds and the human difficulty with its pronunciation it was deemed Vulcan during the first contact between my people and yours.”

“Oh, still pretty cool though.” Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Actually the ambient temperature of Vulcan is quite a bit higher than that of Earth, even at the equator.” Jim just stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing, letting the movement twist him so he was leaning against Spock’s side, his head easily falling to rest on his shoulder.

“Tell me about Vulcan.” Spock almost didn’t register the request, too caught up, once more, in the insistent press of Jim’s warmth against his side. He was becoming all too aware of the fact that his mediation had been far less than adequate as well as that he had no intention of sending Jim away so he could continue.

“Is there something specific you would like to know?”

“Well, don’t just give me a bunch of facts about the percentage of land to water, and the atmosphere, and all that shit, cause I know you will. Tell me about where you lived, or your favorite place to go. Tell me what the planet looks like on a warm summer night when the moon is full.” Jim batted his eyelashes teasingly, and Spock’s eyebrows scrunched together.

“Vulcan has no moon.” Jim laughed again, burying his head in Spock’s shoulder.

“Why am I not surprised?”

They stayed that way for several hours, with Spock telling Jim everything he had never been able to say before and Jim, with wide blue eyes, hanging on his every word, utterly enraptured by the change, subtle but definitely present, that came over Spock as he spoke about his home planet.”

“It sounds beautiful.” Jim sighed quite a while later. Their positions had not changed but Spock was sufficiently warm and if Jim even felt the chill he was far too comfortable to complain.

“Few of those who once inhabited it would agree with you, though I believe my mother shared your opinion.” Jim winced. The destruction of Vulcan by the madman Nero had just been explained and here he was asking one of the few survivors to describe his shattered planet.

“Spock, I’m so sorry. I know I can be a real idiot sometimes; you just have to tell me to shut up. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

“It is of no consequence Jim. I was caused to physical pain by my memories, and Vulcans have no emotions…”

“Bullshit!” The exclamation startled Spock into silence. “First of all, just total and complete bullshit on that one, and second, if Vulcan’s have no emotions how could your mother think that Vulcan was beautiful?!” Jim gave Spock a smirk, proud of his logic, only to have it immediately wiped from his face.

“My mother was human.” The blonde man floundered for a moment, sitting up in hope that the change in position would aid the formation of his argument, before giving up with a huff of frustration and snuggling back into Spock’s side so that the Vulcan was forced to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

“So you got the best of both worlds, literally, huh?”

“Not all saw it that way.”

“Well they were wrong.” The no doubt clever rebuttal to Jim’s statement was cut off by the arrival of Scotty, who apparently was having some trouble with the computer Jim showed him how to use. At least that was the gist that could be made out between swearwords and bursts of Scottish. Jim rolled his eyes and, pressing a kiss to Spock’s cheek which painted the skin with a flush of green, stood to pull the still ranting Scotsman back into the house.


	14. Shall We Begin

Once Scotty managed to stop cussing at the computer long enough to learn how to work the controls, actually by the end of it Nyota was in charge of operation and Scotty was just dictating, their material supply grew impressively quickly and the base of the pad as well as the frame of the control booth took shape in an unused guest room. Jim was well aware that the house was ridiculously huge, but at least it had come in handy for this. Jim couldn’t help but smile at the thought that his parents had somehow anticipated this need and planned accordingly.

Jim had been doing a lot of that lately, smiling. It had gotten him more than one strange look at work when he’d broken out into a brilliant grin, or even chuckled to himself, whilst covered in oil or fighting with parts that wouldn’t fit where they were meant to or even doing paper work which was well known to be James T. Kirk’s greatest enemy. Dr. Grayson had even caught Jim tucking the last of the materials they needed for the transporter into his bag one late night and done nothing more than comment on how much better Jim looked after his vacation, leaving the blonde man with his jaw dropped and his hand essentially in the cookie jar.

Jim cracked his neck and squinted at the clock on the computer screen, exhaling in a rush before shoving his hands back into the twisted pile of gears and wires on the worktable. He knew the project was important, he knew they needed these pieces done ridiculously soon, and he also knew that he’d be working  _another_ late night and he’d left his phone with his bag in his locker, not that anyone would pick up even if he called. Despite the similarity of telephones and communicators everyone had stayed pretty wary of the “ancient” technology, even Spock. Jim snorted at the memory of Spock dismantling and improving Jim’s desktop computer in less than four hours one afternoon, and then refusing to go near the landline after it had rung shrilly and begun beeping when he handled it and Jim wouldn’t allow him to take it apart. Mechanics and engineering may not have been Spock’s strongest subject but he was more than capable of taking something apart and reconfiguring it. Not only could he do it, but he would understand the technology better if he was allowed to thoroughly examine it and until Jim allowed him to do so there was no logical reason for Spock to use the telephone. Even Jim’s completely logical argument that Spock should be able to contact him in case of an emergency was brushed off with a multitude of percentages calculating the exact possibility of any sort of emergency arising for which it would be necessary to contact Jim at work. Jim had gracefully conceded that argument with a grumble about how any emergency would be one where they needed to contact him, and Spock had rewarded his gracious acceptance of defeat with a kiss.

Although Spock had explained about Vulcan emotional control and following the Writings of Surak, Jim continued to call bullshit on Vulcans, or at least half-Vulcans named Spock, not having emotions, but he’d decided to keep quiet and simply continued gently stroking Spock’s hands where they had been clasped across his chest as they lounged in bed, enjoying the brilliant spark of Spock’s mind in the back of his.

Jim continued to daydream as the hour grew later and later and the tangled mess on the table slowly began to take the form of something vaguely resembling a usable part. Finally he had done everything he could do for the night and he all but ran from the building, despising the waste of the few minutes he had to take to lock up responsibly. The bike started easily and he roared down the empty roads, breaking every speed limit and waving cheekily to the sensor cameras as he passed.

\--

Jim let the garage door swing gently closed behind him, wincing when it let out a harsh squeak. Sending the offending wood a cruel glare, he paused for a moment and let out a small sigh of relief when nothing stirred. As he made his way up the stairs, already imagining curling up in his warm bed next to his favorite Vulcan, Artemis appeared on the bottom step and let out a loud meow.

“Shush girl.” Jim reprimanded holding out his arms for her, “We need to be quiet; people are sleeping.” She gave him a look freakishly reminiscent of Spock raising an eyebrow, and simply meowed again, turning her back on him and prancing to the door of the kitchen. When Jim hesitated to follow, glancing wistfully upstairs, she meowed yet again and he followed through the kitchen and into the living room. Maybe if he gave her what she wanted the cat would shut up and let him get to sleep.

A distinct smirk on her normally impassive feline face, Artemis reclined atop the back of Jim’s long sofa and gave a triumphant purr. The human rolled his eyes and was about to head back to his room, away from stupid cats, when something shifted on the other side of the couch. The cat gave him another Spock-like look and all but skipped out of the room her tail high in the air.

Jim rounded the couch and let out a sigh at the sight he found. Spock was curled, in a rather feline way, beneath the afghan Jim’s mother had made, with Jim’s pillow underneath his head. The usual user of said pillow noticed this and with, a sweet smile, leaned down to wake his sleeping beauty. To his surprise, the chocolate eyes shot open as he neared them and in a lightning fast move Spock jerked the afghan to one side, pulled Jim down atop him, and replaced the afghan. Steel-strong arms locked around the human, holding him in place against the Vulcan’s chest.

“Spock,” Jim whined, not really complaining, “let’s go up to bed.” Black bangs flew from side to side in denial and Jim briefly wondered whether Spock had gotten ahold of any chocolate. “Why not Spock? We’ll be more comfortable there,” Again Spock shook his head.

“Cold.” That one whispered word was enough to melt any of the resolve Jim had left. He wrapped his arms around Spock’s slim upper body and buried his face in the graceful neck, delighting in the gasp he received. Gentle kisses on the sensitive skin caused Spock to release a strangely familiar sound. Jim pulled back, as much as the arms around him would allow, and Spock released a displeased groan in response.

“Spock? Are you purring?” A light green blush made its way into Spock’s cheeks and he pressed his face into Jim’s shoulder. The human smoothed the ruffled black down tickling his chin. “Spock?"

“Vulcan’s are distantly related to a species similar to Terran felines in the same way that Terrans are related to primates.” Jim didn’t pause in his stroking, and chuckled softly.

“Terrans are humans right?” Spock shifted back into Jim’s hand.

“Aff-firmative.” Jim chuckled again and shifted them so they were lying on their sides with Spock’s back against the back of the couch and his front against Jim’s chest. Jim yawned widely, he’d had a long day and it was catching up to him.

“Go to sleep, Spock.”

“You as well Ashayam.”

“Ashayam, that’s Vulcan right? What does it mean?” Spock snuggled deeper into Jim and his voice was thick with sleep when he responded.

“Beloved.” Jim tightened his grip on the rapidly drifting man.

“I love you too.”

\--

McCoy was the first to find them in the morning. He’d always been a light sleeper, and an early riser, though not as early as Jim. The sight he found on the couch made him smile then smirk, and reach for his PADD and it’s built in camera.

Jim was sprawled out over the couch, one arm and leg hanging off the edge. The other arm was wrapped securely around the Vulcan cocooned in the afghan and tightly pressed into his side. Spock shifted slightly in his sleep and Jim responded, unconsciously curling protectively over him. McCoy chuckled gently and positioned the PADD to get the best shot of both human and Vulcan, when he noticed something at one edge of the screen. Dark brown eyes watched him intently from their nest. The silent threat they held was enough to make Bones drop the PADD with a quiet grumble.

“Fine, ruin all my fun why don’t you. Green blooded hobgoblin.” Spock would deny that Vulcans felt anything like smugness, but he would admit to a deep satisfaction at both his position against Jim’s warm side and at having dissuaded McCoy from photographing them in this rather compromising position. Jim shifted restlessly against him and Spock snuggled back down beside his human and decided that, on certain rare occasions, there could be advantages to sleeping in.


	15. He'll have to stay...

Jim woke slowly registering the painful crick in his neck and the strange numbness which precedes the prick of pins and needles from his right wrist up to his shoulder. However those small discomforts are pushed to the back of his mind when he opens his eyes to the sight of Spock’s still sleeping face pressed against his chest. Jim isn’t even aware of the sweet smile that lights up his face as he reaches up to brush a lock of sleep-tousled dark hair behind a pointed ear. The gentle movement causes dark eyes to open and for a long moment the rest of the world simply disappears. Feeling playful Jim leans down and presses a kiss to Spock nose, laughing quietly when the appendage wrinkles at the illogical action. Two long pale fingers escape from their cocoon of blankets and lightly touch Jim’s temple, sending a spark through the human and reawakening the brief psychic connection they had shared at Jim’s childhood hideout.

The sounds of a snicker and a smack break them from their trance and Spock’s cheeks and ears flush pale green when he realizes both Dr. McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura are watching them from across the room. Calmly, with calculated movements, he rises to a sitting position and replaces the afghan along the back of the couch where it had hung before his illogical actions of the previous night. Spock refuses to allow himself to blush any deeper, already disappointed by his lack of control, and stubbornly keeps his gaze on the already impeccable edges as he straightens them into perfection. Jim stretches beside him, shaking his arm which has no doubt been numbed, possibly to a dangerous point, by Spock’s denser body atop it all night. However when Jim swings his recovering arm around Spock’s shoulders to pull him up from the couch and away from the still snickering doctor and the grinning lieutenant, any thought of apology is pushed from Spock’s mind as he concentrates intently on resisting the urge to lean his head against the human’s shoulder despite the discrepancies in their heights which would make such a position not only illogical but uncomfortable for them both.

“Walk of shame, huh Commander?” Mr. Scott is sitting at the counter surrounding Jim’s kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee and a smirk on his face. Spock believes he recognizes the human phrase as one referring to the participants in what humans call a “one night stand”, who are required to return to their own domicile in the early hours of the morning without a proper change of clothes and often with a disheveled appearance. Though Spock is certain his own appearance leaves much to be desired in the way of professionalism, if anyone were to be partaking in a “walk of shame” it would be Jim who was not given a chance to remove even his boots, another result of Spock’s illogical actions. Also, at no point did either of them leave Jim’s home once he had returned from work for the evening, and thus, by human definition, neither of them could possibly be participating in the so-called “walk of shame”. Before Spock can correct Mr. Scott’s assumption Jim squeezes his shoulder and laughs briefly.

“Nothing to be ashamed of Scotty. Absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.” Mr. Scott makes an approving gesture with his coffee mug and Spock is pulled from the kitchen and partially up the stairs before he realizes that Jim most likely did not come to a conclusion similar to his own and in fact meant that it was unimportant whether their actions were appropriately named and Spock’s presence was what caused him to be unashamed. Humans were notoriously illogical and sentimental in that way and the strange but not uncomfortable feeling in Spock’s lower abdomen was nothing more than his body’s signal of its need for sustenance.

Jim grants him a human kiss as they part on the upper floor and Spock certainly does not linger to watch Jim’s strong body as he makes his way up the shorter flight of stairs to his bedroom. It is the work of 6.53 minutes for Spock to relieve himself of his sleepwear and don more appropriate clothing for the day, and though he debates returning those articles of clothing which Jim lent to him, Spock decides that the extra layers provided by the borrowed sweaters are necessary to protect him from the chill of Earth’s northern climate even with the insulation of his recently purchased parka.

When Spock exits his room Jim’s door stands open enough that he can hear the shower running in the connected bathroom. It is not a conscious decision which takes him up the stairs and through the unlatched door, but once he finds himself in the tidy room (despite Jim’s boisterous personality he is no slob) there is no inclination to leave. The bed is still unmade from where Spock attempted first sleep, then meditation and failed at both the previous night. He straightens both sheet and comforter, tucking them back into their proper positions, and adjusts the pillows, Jim having tossed the one they shared on the couch back beside its fellow.

The sheets are cool, a result of circulating air and lack of use, but they do not feel as if they had been left to dry in the icy winds of Delta Vega as had been Spock’s illogical impression last night. The bed is overly large for a single average size human or Vulcan male and just barely big enough for two; it does not stretch out into the never-ending darkness determined to swallow Spock whole. The bed had seemed cold and empty without Jim beside him a situation which was only slightly relieved by the thickly knitted afghan and the press of the couch at his back.

Since Spock’s arrival Jim had never worked as late as he did last night, save perhaps the night he found them on the side of the road, and Jim should either still be sleeping in order to have an adequate amount of rest for a human or should never work that late again. Either of those two options was a logical choice to keep Jim from compromising his rest, but Spock felt an unprecedented favor toward the latter. However, he knew that Jim was only working those late hours in order to help them. Despite the fact that Dr. Grayson appeared to be aware of some of Jim’s more minor thefts, it was only on those days when he was left to clean and lock up, as everyone else had already returned home, that Jim was able to steal larger amounts or more dangerous substances. Jim’s late nights were helping them get home more quickly.

Spock’s hand froze where it had been smoothing out invisible wrinkles from the bed spread. Jim was risking so much to help them. If he was caught it would cost him his career, his freedom, essentially his life, though not literally as, even in this century, it was highly unlikely that the death penalty applied to crimes where another life had not been taken. Jim was risking everything to help them get back to his future and Jim would have to stay.

The bathroom door swung open releasing a cloud of steam and a jean-clad Jim who was still drying his upper body and hair. Despite his preoccupation Spock’s eyes flitted over the tanned skin of the human’s bare chest, alighting briefly on a silver pendant on a black thong which bore an unusual similarity to the Starfleet emblem. Jim grinned brightly and tossed the towel on the bed as he moved to the closest and pulled out a dark long-sleeved shirt.

“Hey Spock.” He greeted as he tugged the fabric down over taught abdominal muscles. Using the discarded towel to dry his hair before shaking it out like a dog he threw the damp towel in the hamper and stepped up to Spock to cup his cheeks and give him what Jim had deemed their customary “good-morning kiss”. Automatically the Vulcan’s arms moved to wrap around Jim’s waist, his hands splayed out across the small of his back, and he returned the human kiss though his thoughts were not yet settled enough to enjoy it as he had before. Jim pulled back, still grinning, but did not break their embrace.

“I was thinking. It’s rather illogical for you to keep all of your stuff in the guest room if you’re going to be spending the night in here with me, so maybe sometime soon, if you don’t mind, we could bring your things in here and I wouldn’t have to miss you in the mornings.” Jim’s blue eyes were so hopeful and oh so very close that it took a great deal of Spock’s control not to reveal the horrible realization that had not left his thoughts.

“While it is illogical for you to miss me at any point during the morning as we are never parted for longer than 10.72 minutes and I am aware you are “making fun” of me with your use of and emphasis on that particular term,” Jim tucked his head onto Spock’s shoulder and snorted a laugh into the borrowed sweater, “your analysis of the situation as illogical appears sound and I would not “mind” sharing this room with you.” Impossibly Jim’s grin grew and he pressed a smiling kiss to Spock’s lips before pulling him out of the room with their fingers laced together.

Spock’s shields slammed up causing Jim to frown briefly before dismissing it and resuming his grin. Behind the barriers Spock’s thoughts were almost impossible to contain. He had known this fact from the moment they began work on the transporter, and it had never been in question. It was not only illogical but ridiculous that it should be causing him distress at all much less so suddenly. Eventually Spock pulled away from the group, claiming a need for mediation which was hardly untrue. There had been very few times in his life during which Spock had so much difficulty in calming his mind and suppressing his emotions, one of them had been the death of his mother, but no matter how hard he tried to push it down and lock it away there was one thought that ripped all his efforts to shreds.

Jim will have to stay.

\--

With Scotty’s knowledge and Jim ability to get them the more rare and/or expensive materials, his actions were either “illegal” or “impressively sneaky” the debate was still ongoing, the transporter began to take shape rapidly. Jim was simultaneously utterly fascinated with it and utterly frustrated by it. His fascination and frustration stemmed, oddly enough, from the same place: Montgomery Scott. Scotty was more than happen to let Jim assist him and would even explain how to build something before sending Jim off to build a piece by himself, but he would not write anything down and he refused to give Jim enough information to form a clear picture.

Scotty’s reasoning, that it was future technology and there was no way in hell he was going to risk some bozo on the side of the road finding whatever he wrote down and inventing it a hundred years too early, was irritatingly sound, but his insistence that “I’ll tell you later lad! When I’m not working with sticks and leaves!” actually gave Jim hope. He hadn’t asked, terrified of the answer, but he had begun to hope that he’d be allowed to follow Spock, and everyone else but mostly Spock, into the future. Honestly, the chances of Jim doing something with his life that would actually have any sort of impact on the future were right up there between zip and nada. Anyway, he couldn’t leave Spock, no matter how weird he’d been acting lately or how quiet he had suddenly become. Spock was always pretty quiet and unobtrusive, but for some reason the Vulcan had been all but silent, almost brooding. Of course whenever Jim asked if something was wrong or what he had done the answer was always, “Nothing Jim. I am well.” So Jim had decided to leave it alone and whatever it was would come out when it needed too.

Even Spock’s unusually quiet mood couldn’t dampen Jim’s spirits right now. According to Scotty they were getting really, really close to being finished with the transporter. They just needed Jim to go on one more shopping spree at work and they would be in the final stretch. Tonight was the night of the final shopping spree and Dr. Grayson was on an extended vacation with his family so the majority of the people in Jim’s department would be skipping out as early as possible, which made it the perfect time to let Scotty visit like he’d wanted to since the beginning. In fact everybody had decided to come, which wasn’t surprising; they seemed to be uncomfortable separating the group which was probably a result of working on a starship.

_Starship_. The word sent shivers down Jim’s spine and brought to mind the white beauty from his dreams. He’d never imagined space travel could be as easy as they had described it. Simple shuttles traveling to huge starships which then had the capability to carry their passengers around the entire galaxy and beyond. Just the idea almost made Jim misty-eyed. He’d be able to see the stars, just like he’d always imagined, and even better he’d have Spock there right beside him.

Speaking of Spock, the Vulcan settled behind him on the bike and clasped his hands across Jim’s stomach. Even through the layers of his own clothing and Spock’s gloves Jim could feel the chill of his skin and broke the hold in order to shrug out of his coat and drape it over Spock’s shoulders. The Vulcan protested but Jim simply started the bike and let it roll forward forcing Spock to push his arms through the sleeves and regain his grip around Jim’s waist. Sulu, who had taken to driving like a fish to water, followed them in the truck with everybody else, even Bones who was unhappy with the possible illegality of their actions. Somehow Jim had managed to break through the southern cursing and convince him that a bunch of other departments would still be there, so it wasn’t as if they were sneaking into an empty building in the middle of the night. He had purposefully neglected to mention that they would in fact be sneaking into a partially occupied building in the late evening.

Spock inched forward to press tighter up against his back, do doubt finding the cold wind uncomfortable (“Hatred is an emotion Jim.”) and Jim smiled into the wind.


	16. ...With Me  Forever

One day when Jim had gone out grocery shopping, Spock called everyone together for a meeting, even pulling Mr. Scott away from his work on the transporter. His statement that Jim must remain in the current time was met with dismay from his crew. Mr. Chekov’s shoulders visibly sank in a human expression of sadness and Lieutenant Uhura opened her mouth several times to disagree before thinking better of it each time. Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott were neither so quiet or so logical in their objections (the illogic being in that they had them), and several loud minutes were spent calmly explaining the many reasons why it was impossible for Jim to travel with them to the future.

“We can’t just leave the kid here. Not after what he’s seen.”

“Doctor, are you suggesting both that we cannot trust Jim and that it would be prudent to wipe his memory?”

“Dammit Spock you know I’m not! But all this stuff he knows about that he’s never gonna see, what if that depresses him to the point of suicide?!”

“I believe you and I are both aware that Jim is not so easily beaten down.”

“Well what about when we got here?! He was all but working himself to death, you saw that! And what do you think is gonna happen when you just up and leave him?! We all know you love him!” Spock was silent for a moment and in that short time the doctor’s regret for his rash statement showed clearly on his features. “Spock, I…”

“Nevertheless Dr. McCoy, we cannot risk changing the future particularly when we already are aware of the impact his offspring will have on it.” McCoy appeared beaten at that, but Mr. Scott spoke up voicing an argument Spock had already had with himself a hundred times.

“How do we know he’s the right Kirk?” Someone gasped quietly, possibly Ensign Chekov, and Spock felt the pang in his lower left side that he refused to call heartache. His answer was almost inaudible and ended the discussion entirely.

“We cannot take the risk that he is.”

\--

The laboratory in which Jim worked was truly fascinating, though Spock could not focus on it. Jim had not stopped moving since they arrived. He bounced from area to area, nothing restricted or classified, rattling off figures and stories for Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov at a pace even Spock at times had trouble keeping up with. Finally they arrived at the office of his supervisor in which, Jim had reported, was a detailed and complete map of the surrounding area which was difficult to find even on the internet considering most of it was cornfields. Once they returned to the ship the plan was, unless Nero had done unspeakable damage, to use the ship’s transporter to move their contraption to an unoccupied area where it could be destroyed without the possibility of damaging property or injuring anyone.

The map was large and mostly paper, practically a museum piece already, but Jim claimed that Dr. Grayson had a new one made of the area surrounding the NASA laboratory, which included his own home as well as Jim’s, every few years.

“It’s just one of his things. Nobody knows why he does it, and nobody gets a straight answer when they ask, though I think it might have something to do with his dad, but I’m not sure. Anyway we can use this to get an idea of where would be a good place to drop the transporter and mark down the coordinates, since we can’t actually take the map, Dr. Grayson might kill me then.” Looking up from the map Jim smiled at a circle of solemn faces. His good humor slid away and his eyes were wary. “What’s going on guys?” There was a moment of silence during which they all realized that someone would have to speak, and no one wanted to, before Spock stepped forward.

“Jim, you cannot travel to the future with us.” Jim’s hand smacked down on the oak desk over which he had spread the map. “You must remain here, in your own time.”

“Why? What are the chances that I actually amount to anything, especially enough to change the future?” He stared desperately around at each of them. No one but Spock met his eyes. “What do you know?”

“Lieutenant George Kirk, your descendant, will save over 800 lives when we are all very young, sacrificing himself and the starship he will briefly command to defeat a larger enemy.” Jim’s stomach sank. It wasn’t even him. He wouldn’t amount to anything. It was a man he would never even come near to seeing who would, sometime in the distant future, do something amazing. It wasn’t him.

“Well, that…that makes sense.” The words burned as they were forced up his throat. “Here…uh… here’s the map. I’m sure you guys can figure it out on your own. And, since you don’t need me anymore I’ll just uh…” Spock was in his path around the desk, but Jim kept his gaze on the ground and pushed past, “excuse me.” And he was gone.

\--

Jim slouched through the parking garage his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The chill wind made a shiver reverberate along his spine and he remembered with a disbelieving laugh that he’d left his jacket on Spock. Spock. Jim scowled at the ground punting a pebble with his toe so it skipped along the ground and left a thin white scratch along the edge of a car. Spock. Voices echoed from up ahead and he jerked to another direction. There were fewer cars here and it was darker. Much darker. The lights were either long burned out or had been turned off. Some twisted part of his brain almost wished a serial killer would pop up from behind one of the rusty Fords, at least it would get his mind off… The scowl deepened and it was a monument to his self-control that he didn’t haul off and start beating on the cars. It’s not fair. His mind thought petulantly, which made Jim feel like a four-year-old who hadn’t gotten their way, which made him want to hit something even more.

Distantly he could hear the sound of drunken laughter and decided that a brawl in a bar was exactly what he needed. And now there wouldn’t be anyone around who cared enough to stop him. Something clenched painfully in Jims chest when he thought that. No more Sulu, no more Chekov to laugh with, and at. No more Scotty to bribe engineering secrets from the future out of, no more Uhura to flirt with and to knock some sense into his head, whether he needed it or not. No more Bones…Jim had reached the edge of the parking garage but he didn’t see it. He couldn’t see anything through the streaks of black and red that cut across his vision and stabbed through his chest. No more. They were all going. All leaving. They had managed to become the center of his life and it seemed like they had been there so long already that he couldn’t bear to remember at time without them, and now they were leaving, all together, to fly into some awesome future without Jim. Christ he probably wouldn’t be around for the conception of their grandparents. His eyes burned tellingly and Jim sunk to the ground his back resting on a concrete column.

He hadn’t even thought about Spock yet… another twinge of pain, incredibly sharp. God knows how long he sat there head between his knees, arms around his head and struggled not to cry, his chest heaving with quiet dry sobs. The footsteps went unnoticed but the hand on his head and the spark accompanying it didn’t. The tears escaped as he curled deeper into himself attempting to become a Jim-colored puddle of goo and escape that fucking hand. Instead of disappearing that hand moved, and brought an arm with it, until it was curled around his waist. A sharp, but gentle tug brought him out of his ball and into a collision with a horribly familiar too warm chest.

The dam broke and he was all but bawling. Another arm joined the first holding him tight against the slim body as if they wanted to pull Jim inside. Slowly, ever so slowly the sobs and the shivers he hadn’t felt subsided. A jacket was draped across his shoulders, but the arms never moved. Jim inhaled deeply clenching his fingers tighter into the material of Spock’s…his jacket. He turned his head, still cocooned in the warm arms and both disinclined toward leaving and incapable of doing so. They were all there. Sulu and Scotty had Chekov and Uhura wrapped in their arms both of them trying to stare at Jim and hide their own tear tracks at the same time. Even Bones’ eyes glistened suspiciously. “What is this?” Jim croaked pitifully making Spock’s arms tighten further his alien strength attempting to hold Jim permanently to him. Bones stepped aside revealing Jim’s truck. Jim nodded bitterly and rolled his eyes. Of course, in walking the opposite direction from his bike he had managed to end up the last place they expected him to be and the first place they looked.

Sniffing quietly Bones ran a hand down his face and cleared his throat. “Guess you didn’t know where we’d put or you wouldn’ta come this way, and we’dve had a hell of a time findin you. Then again, you couldn’t have gone far what with the hobgoblin here nearly breakin down the damn door to get out the second you left.” He rolled his eyes and a tiny watery smile appeared on Jim’s face though his eyes still projected confusion, and disbelief. “Christ kid, I guess what I’m tryin to say is… is…” Uhura broke away from Scotty and knelt down beside him her dark eyes soft and warm.

“We realized we can’t go without you Jim. None of us. You’ve shoved your way into all our hearts, even Grumpy McGrufferson’s over there.” Bones ‘hmphed’ at that and muttered something about more original nicknames from his 5-year-old. Uhura continued unperturbed. “It hurt all of us thinking of leaving you Jim, and I think the future can handle one more crazy genius.” She smiled before turning serious again. Carefully she shuffled closer on her knees speaking in almost a whisper. “You know we’re a family, right Jim. All of us. You… you, you muscled your way in and showed us exactly what we didn’t know we were looking for; you completed us. Then we thought we had to give you up.” She leaned forward and, maneuvering skillfully around Spock’s arms, wrapped Jim in a hug. “I’m so sorry about that. It was stupid and cruel and we thought it was for the greater good at first. But I don’t believe anything that hurts this much could be better for anyone. We’re going to be selfish and we’re going to keep you, if you’ll let us.” Hesitantly Jim nodded still not sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Nyota smiled, pulling back and flinging the tears from her cheeks. “Now you’re back and we’re a family again, and nothing is ever going to change that. We’re so sorry.”

Jim’s tentatively healing heart pounded like war drums in his ears and he tilted back to gaze at the sharply angled face he’d come to love so much in so short a time. Spock, his dark eyes soft and solemn, tightened his hold on Jim with one hand and brought the other up to brush across his meld points sending sweet electricity coursing over Jim’s skin. He didn’t linger, though, his face becoming harshly neutral, in reaction to the snippets of emotion he could feel, and softening almost immediately. Hesitantly, practically silently, Jim repeated his question.

“What is this?” Spock’s eyes never moved from his face and Jim could see perfectly the self-hatred he felt at the pain he had caused Jim. Spock tightened his arms even further, though not enough to cause Jim pain, and leaned down to whisper in his ear his hot breath sending shivers down Jim’s spine.

“This is me, Jim. This is me in every way I can give myself to you. This is me giving up fighting my instincts any longer; completely surrendering.” Jim was shaking again, not from the cold, and Spock pressed his nose into the golden strands feeling illogically safer as he took in the unique scent of Jim. “This is love, Jim. I love you.” The body in his arms froze, all movement stilling in a way that was most unnatural for humans, but Spock didn’t have time to express his concern because, in an explosion of limbs, Jim spun in his arms and flung his own around Spock’s neck. The surprise was enough to propel the Vulcan onto his back feeling the chill of the sidewalk seeping up through his multiple layered sweaters and borrowed jacket, but he didn’t care because the warmth of the body above him was enough to negate any chill he would feel for the rest of his long life. Spock felt his mouth curl into an unfamiliar position as Jim’s fingers tangled in the short hairs at the back of his neck. He wrapped his arms around the lean waist of his human, his Jim. His forever and ever and ever. Illogical, ridiculous, ludicrous… perfect. Jim sat up after a minute, sniffling and wiping tears from his cheeks a self-deprecating but undeniably happy smile on his face only to have his mouth drop in amazement as he took in the Vulcan still lying beneath him.

“Spock, y…you’re smiling. At me.” His good mood dissipating Spock rose so he could hold Jim in his lap and whisper in the exotically rounded ear. Unsure of where the words had originated, and well aware that his father would have disapproved, Spock spoke.

“If I had a star for every time you made me smile, I would hold the entire night sky in the palm of my hand.” Jim smiled gently sweeping the pads of his fingers down the side of Spock’s face. The Vulcan leaned into the warmth of his hand and Jim brushed their noses together in an Eskimo kiss causing Spock’s to wrinkle. Nyota gave a little gasp that turned into a drawn-out adoring sigh. Jim flushed brightly and buried his face in Spock’s neck, catching sight of the Vulcan’s brilliantly green cheeks as he descended. Bones cleared his throat again, loudly.

“Enough of this mush fest. I don’t know about any of you, but I’m ready to get out of this freezing air. And then in a few days back to a medical system where the answer for everything isn’t drilling a freaking hole in the patient’s head!” They laughed and followed him over to the truck. Jim held his position, sensing that Spock was disinclined to move at this particular moment.

“We’ll catch you guys back at the house. I’m gonna take Spock on the bike.” Sulu, who had taken to driving like a fish to water, it was just one more thing to pilot, grinned from his position in the driver’s seat.

“Ok you two don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“What exactly does that include?!” The truck pulled away, but Spock’s grip did not lessen. After a long silence Jim spoke, his voice quiet.

“Spock, what’s wrong?” The grip tightened again and Spock leaned his head into Jim’s shoulder his shoulders shaking slightly.

“I am so sorry T’hy’la. I thought that I was strong enough to be without you. I believed I could force myself to forget you, so as not to rob you of your life here. But I was wrong, so wrong. And I thought nothing of your feelings; I believed you would move on and forget me. How blind I was, how selfish. If you can find it in your heart, please forgive me T’hy’la. I beg of you.” Jim was stunned into silence for a moment unable to comprehend even this own thoughts. Never had it occurred to him how much doing that must have hurt Spock, who had felt not only his own pain, but Jim’s well. Guilt welled up inside him and Spock clung to him even more though his grip did not tighten. “No ashaya, no. Never must you feel guilt for what I have done, please.”

“Spock.” The word was nothing more than a whisper and Jim pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of a wool covered ear, making his way down to the corner of thin lips where harsh, short breaths escaped in white clouds. “Spock, you came back, that’s all that matters. And I understand, I know what you were trying to do, but that isn’t your decision to make, ok? I’m a big boy; I know what I want and who I want to be with.” He brushed away the moisture at the edge of one chocolate eye. “I love you Spock.” The Vulcan froze and then suddenly released a sigh that sounded to be partially in pain and partially in pleasure. Jim snuggled farther down into the tight hold, pressing his head against Spock’s chest. “I love you.” He didn’t fall asleep, but the world seemed to disappear as Spock’s long fingers gently brushed through his hair, calming, soothing, but still with a slight shake to them. They ghosted over Jim’s temple bringing that familiar spark of connection between their minds and Spock felt what his mother had once referred to as tears of joy gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“I love you,” He told the beautiful creature cradled in his arms. “I love you, Jim.”


	17. The Wrong Ship

“Captain, we are unable to determine the location of Spock and the others at this time.” The young officer cringed well aware of his captain’s bad temper and often violent reactions to bad news. However Nero simply nodded and dismissed him. Ayel quirked an eyebrow as the door slid closed, inquiring as to his commanding officer’s merciful mood.

“That was to be expected, old friend. We implanted no trackers and the channel used by the Starfleet does not yet exist so there is no chance of reading their communications. But I know those people down there. They were the Federation’s pride and joy. I may have deprived them of their captain, but this body functions well even without a head. They will not die of starvation somewhere in the wilderness, there is not enough of it left on Earth to ensure that end. Somehow they will attempt to create the technology necessary to return to their ship.” He glanced out a view screen at the enterprise bobbing gently in their tractor beam, still, despite its difficult adventure, appearing to give off an ethereal glow. Ayel stared thoughtfully at Nero’s back and spoke carefully, not wanting to disturb his captain’s strange peace of mind. “Of course such advanced technology will stand out amongst the primitive electronics on this pathetic planet. Our scanners will detect that technology as well as any life forms surrounding it.” Ayel held his breath anxiously, but Nero simply nodded and turned from the viewscreen. He shared a cruel smile with his first officer. “Then let us begin.”

\--

_This was not the same ship from the dreams of before. Where that one had been clean and white this one was dark, foreboding and strange many-legged creatures scuttled from shadowy corner to shadowy corner. The oppressive darkness constricted Jim’s chest, slowly leeching the air from his body. Concentrating on not tasting the foul stench of death and decay, Jim forced himself to take a deep breath of the stale air. His lungs expanded gratefully but his stomach roiled._

_Spinning slowly Jim took in his surroundings, strangely crisp and clear for a dream. He was standing on a metal platform suspended high above and far below what seemed to be an endless number of others. Each protruded seamlessly from the bulkhead, and the majority broke off into empty space. Jim’s, however, continued forward crossing the open space and entering a passageway from which shone a dirty yellow light. He passed through the narrow hallway goose-bumps forming with each step. He emerged into another, smaller open space. Here his feet touched the deck and the ceiling was clearly visible. At the center of the room there was a mass of people all surrounding a single man who grasped a scepter in one hand and stood tall, commandingly above the others. He spoke and although Jim couldn’t understand, the words left him terrified and shaking. The faceless people laughed and the man slowly began to turn. Suddenly Jim couldn’t stand to be there any longer. He ran._

_The passageways of the ship twisted and turned, but never seemed to come to an end. Jim could feel the oily dark presence at his back, chasing him, stalking him. He panted into the cruel silence, devoid of any of the normal sounds of machinery, and finally gave up attempting to be quiet._

_"Spock!” He screamed. The presence laughed at him, and Jim felt hot tears on his face. Why wouldn’t Spock come? Where was he? The hall he was following ended in a solid black wall and Jim sank to the floor despair coursing through him. He turned to face death. For a moment there was only inky darkness, then it started to take the shape of a tall man…with pointed ears._

_Jim buried his head in his hands, not wanting to see more, and the tears continued as he whimpered quietly to himself._

_"Spock.” He cried. Something touched his back burning a line down one side and up the other. “Spock!” A third line of heat and his back was bursting open to spill blood on the greasy floor. In desperation Jim turned his back to the wall and stared up into those dark soul-sucking eyes._

“SPOCK!” Jim shot up in bed his chest heaving and his clothing soaked with sweat. Spock was wide awake next to him, concern in his eyes. Jim flinched involuntarily. Those dark eyes.

“Jim? Ashaya? Beloved, what ails you?” Jim struggled to control his breathing and brush off the Vulcan at the same time.

“Nothing Spock, just a nightmare. I’m alright… I think I’ll go take a little walk to calm myself down.” He had managed to stop panting, but he needed to get away from those ears, and those eyes. Spock didn’t seem to believe him that it was nothing.

“Would you like me to join you Ashaya?”

“No.” Jim swung his legs out of bed and pulled the extra blanket back over Spock. “No, Spock. It’s alright. You just go back to sleep, and let me walk this off.” He managed a smile and kissed the Vulcan quickly on the forehead. “Goodnight sweetheart.” Hesitantly Spock leaned back against the pillows, not entirely convinced, but allowed Jim to leave the room unhindered and eventually managed to drift back to sleep even without his human’s comforting warmth. Jim wasn’t having near as much luck calming himself to a state where sleep would even be possible. Now that he had, for lack of a more appropriate word, escaped Spock’s features, he realized exactly how ridiculous he had been and was being. Unfortunately no matter how strong his conviction was that he was being an idiot, he couldn’t bring himself to go back into the bedroom. He meandered along the upstairs hallway sending longing glances up the short flight where the man he loved was sleeping, but could never convince himself to take those three short steps. Finally he ended up leaning in the doorway of what had been termed “The Transporter Room” watching the tiny little lights flicker in the darkness. Scotty had finally trusted him with the designs of the technology of the transporter, and once he had explained the general mechanics Jim had had an epiphany and jumped in to practically finish his sentences. Even Spock had left them to it, after a while, because with the transporter pad and station the room just wasn’t big enough for three and Scott and Jim appeared to have everything well in hand.

Jim clicked on the light and sank to his knees between the well-organized toolbox and the control panel, flicking the lock on the back to expose the twisted mass of wires inside. He loved this so much, it didn’t matter whether he was repairing his parent’s truck, tweaking his baby, tinkering on a project at work, or building technology that really shouldn’t be around for centuries after his death. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He wasn’t here to think, he was here to forget. With that he threw himself into the work and, after a couple productive hours, had managed to all but forget… what he had come to forget. Of course Spock would want to talk about it in the morning, but for now all that mattered was that Jim could fall back asleep with the Vulcan beside him.

He stepped onto the pad and slid the window up so that the cool early-morning air caressed his face. Taking a deep breathe he leaned on the sill and let his exhaustion wash over him. The prospect of returning to bed with Spock against his side was looking more and more inviting. As he stood there an odd tingling feeling started in his fingertips and toes. It traveled up his body until the world turned blurry. It felt like the single molecules of his body were shaking. The last thing he heard before the dark world faded away into brilliant white light was Spock’s panicked voice.

“Jim! No!”

\--

Jim had barely materialized when unforgiving hands grasped his arms. He struggled against his captors but they were stronger than him, strong like Spock. As he writhed and bucked in their hold he caught sight of up-swung ears that ended in sharp tips as well as thick black tattoo lines where their hair should be. More of the aliens watched from the shadows as Jim was pulled along and he had the feeling that a crowd was gathering behind them. Eventually they entered a wide room filled with flickering and beeping machines. One wall was made up entirely of a huge screen or window that displayed a million twinkling stars.

In the center of the room another alien was perched in a throne on top of a slightly raised dais. He stood with a sharp shocked gasp when Jim entered the room and stared without blinking as the human was forced to his knees on the steps of the platform. Slowly, dramatically, he stepped down and gripped Jim’s chin, so that his neck twisted uncomfortably and his face was turned up. Another short, disbelieving breath escaped thin lips and a disgusting, stale smell assaulted Jim’s senses.

“I know your face, from Earth’s history.” The human recoiled as best he could, but the grip on his chin was too strong. “I should have known you wouldn’t stay dead.” Jim, too intent on trying to escape the sickening smell, ignored his captor until the man whispered his name, almost reverently. “James Tiberius Kirk. I thought I had rid the galaxy of you once, but I should have guessed you wouldn’t give up that easily. You had a knack for making unfortunate returns from death.” The man was insane, he was talking about Jim like he’d done…anything other than sit around making wires spark in The Middle of Nowhere, Iowa. Suddenly the grip on his chin tightened and a cruel smile took over the tattooed face, his teeth broken and yellowed.

“If you’re here, Spock can’t be far behind.” Jim’s eyes widened involuntarily. How could he know about Jim and Spock? “But I don’t have any proof you are who you look like.” He hooked a curious finger into the cord around Jim’s neck. The grin returned and the maniac leaned closer, their noses weren’t more than a centimeter apart. “You’ll make such pretty bait for the Vulcan. Such a beautiful trap you’ll set.” Anger coursed, hot and fast, through Jim’s body and he channeled it all into one brief movement of his lips and neck, propelling his saliva across that short space so hard that once the spit had been angrily swiped away, a small circular dark spot remained.

“You leave Spock out of this. Stay the fuck away from all of them.” The dark angry look faded to be replaced with a twisted smile which emphasized the spark of madness in his dark eyes. A rough finger dragged along Jim’s face.

“A beautiful trap indeed.”

\--

Spock’s hands curled around empty air. He let out a shuddering breath but couldn’t seem to draw another in. Unseeing eyes watched as those traitor hands curled and uncurled again and again unable to believe that they had failed, that they hadn’t been fast enough, that they hadn’t been able to feel the blazing of his skin and the gentle caress of his mind one last time. There were voices around him, he knew that, but all his fine-tuned Vulcan ears registered were his own aborted breaths. A warm hand touched his shoulder and he spun around raising his filthy hands in defense because that touch was wrong, so wrong.

McCoy pulled back at the wild look in Spock’s eyes. His pupils had dilated so that only the slightest ring of brown remained.

“We’ll get him back Spock. I promise those bastards won’t keep him for long and once we get him back they’ll pay.”

\--

The Romulans were taken by surprise, and so the small group, made up of Spock, McCoy, Sulu, and Uhura, managed to shrink Nero’s crew by a dozen men before they were caught. Each was relieved of their archaic weapons, (either taken directly from Jim’s garage or improvised out of what they had left over from the transporter) and directed to the bridge of the ship where Nero lounged in his throne-like captain’s chair. Spock didn’t spare the insane man a single glance his gaze immediately focusing on the shadows behind Nero where a mass of shadow was darker than its surroundings. Spock knew that Jim was there, hurt, and he lunged forward against the restraining hands of Nero’s crew a vicious primal snarl ripping through his lips. The deranged Romulan only laughed and gestured behind him. There was a harsh scraping sound and two crewmen pushed a figure, hunched over on its knees, into the light.

Spock jerked against his captors again anger coursing hot through his body even as he was drenched with cold fear. The top of Jims golden head was angled toward them and the once gossamer strands were matted and brown with dried blood. Coarse ropes, Spock could see individual fibers from where he stood, had been wrapped around his ankles, knees, upper arms, and around his wrists behind his back. Oh his back. Red human blood had crusted over it almost entirely, but Spock could still make out some of the deep slashes and welts that were scattered across it. Nero laughed again, presumably at Spock’s expression, and wrapped his fingers in the once golden hair and pulled, yanking Jim’s head back and causing the human to let out a cry muffled by the thick cloth in his mouth. Spock felt his heart jerk in his side. Clear blue eyes, shimmering with pain, caught hold of deep brown and their weak bond ignited. Spock sent soothing thoughts, no words, only gentle thoughts, along the bond hoping to calm his mate who had begun to struggle which would only hurt him further. Slowly Jim stilled, but Spock continued to soothe, siphoning off the man’s pain onto himself.

Nero, angered by Jim’s sudden tranquility, slammed the human’s head back down so it bounced off the metal deck of the ship with a sickening crack. Spock let out a pained whine, but he wasn’t the only one. Bones hated this, hated it so much that he couldn’t go to him, couldn’t help the man in need. He was far from a superhero or any other type of do-gooder but he couldn’t bear the sight or thought of people in pain, especially people he loved. Bones was so caught up in his hatred of the situation, his weakness, and Nero that it took him a split second to realize what was going on when Nero gestured for him to come forward. He moved at a brisk walk, not wanting to run and expose his weakness any more than he already had to these bastards, but also terrified that any second one of the guards would reach out and stop him.

He knelt next to the still figure on the steps up to Nero’s chair,  _What kind of egotistical asshole puts a goddamn throne on a mining ship?_ , and reached immediately for Jim’s pulse at his neck. Spock snarled again and McCoy jumped minutely, but didn’t bother to spare the Vulcan a glance. He released a sigh of relief when Jim’s heart beat beneath his fingers. It wasn’t strong, but it also wasn’t weak enough to cause McCoy too much stress. He lifted the kid back into a kneeling position, getting an unwanted closer look at the bruises and scratches along the front of his body. Bones couldn’t even stand to think about his back. He couldn’t treat it now and it wouldn’t do anyone any good to stress over it.

“Jim.” He said gently holding the beaten face between his hands. “I need you to wake up now darlin’” Spock growled and reminded McCoy of their audience, but he pushed it to the back of his mind and focused all his attention on Jim. This would be a really bad time for him to be unconscious, especially considering the high chances that he had a concussion. “Come on Jimmy.” He continued lightly tapping the bruised cheeks. “Time to wake up.” The blonde man groaned quietly and blue eyes fluttered open only looking slightly dazed. He mumbled something through the gag confusion in his eyes, but thankfully recognition was there was well and after a couple more tries Bones was able to recognize his name. “Bones.” Jim said again with a questioning tilt of his head now that he knew McCoy could understand him. The elder man pressed his forehead to Jim’s. “It’s gonna be ok darlin’. You’ll see. We’re gonna get you out of here and everything will be just peachy again, I promise.” He appeared to have more to say but two Romulans grabbed his upper arms and pulled him back into the cluster surrounding Spock, Sulu, and Uhura. The entire time McCoy was shouting expletives at Nero interspersing them with reasons why Jim needed more and better treatment. Nero simply leaned back in his chair and chuckled darkly.

“Yes I remember now. Dr. McCoy. You always were very protective of your captain weren’t you?” Two pairs of dark eyebrows rose in unison. Spock had come back to himself a bit once Jim had woken, but now Nero stared at them as if the Vulcan were not only still insane, but McCoy as well. “You don’t know?” He asked incredulously, dark glee rising in his ebony eyes. “Computer.” The dark screen behind him flickered to life. “Photo: Lieutenant George Samuel Kirk, father of  _Captain_ James Tiberius Kirk.” Jim looked up his eyes wide and Spock realized that Jim had never told them his middle name before. The file photo of the savior of the federation appeared on the screen and Nero pulled Jim up so they were standing side by side just beneath the photo and gripped Jim’s hair again.

“Well Spock, do you see it now?” Four pairs of eyes flitted from photo to friend and all of them widened briefly in shock even as their owners said nothing. Nero threw Jim down again, more gently this time, and snatched something off the edge of his chair. The familiar silver pendant dangled from his fist, its similarity to the Starfleet emblem still amazed Spock even as it swung hypnotically from the hand of a madman. “Don’t you know what this is Spock?” The Vulcan did not respond, watching Jim who couldn’t keep his gaze steady on Spock or the pendant. “You should you know. They stopped using not long after you were born, surely you studied them in school.” McCoy and Sulu shared confused glances, but Spock continued to be emotionless, eyes intent on Jim. “These are the Starfleet equivalent of what the humans termed ‘dog tags’. Each one holds a recording of the rank, name, and number of the person who wore it. Let’s find out who this one belonged to.” He pulled apart the two pieces of the locket and the head of a young woman appeared. In a calm monotone voice she began to speak.

“Kirk, Winona. Lieutenant USS Kelvin Serial number: SC937-0176 CEC.”

The hologram remained for a moment casting a sinister glow on Nero’s cruel smile. It faded slowly and silence reigned.


	18. Around the Sun

The Romulan commander scoffed and snapped the locket shut with a click that echoed into the stunned silence. Then he laughed a short cruel thing full of dark mirth. He laughed again and again and again. Eventually hysteria at their blank, unbelieving faces wracked his body, throwing back the tattooed head and making him clutch at his sides. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t know.” He shook his fist, the black thong dangling from it, and stepped down in front of Jim whose eyes were fixed on where the hologram had appeared. “Your captain.” he taunted stepping through the throng of his own men to stand face to face with Spock. “Your lover.” He was so close now, but the Romulans’ grip on Spock was tight, all but unbreakable. “Your _T’hy’la_.” He spat the Vulcan word as if it dirtied his mouth and basked in the desperation of Spock’s renewed struggles.

“You didn’t know that either yet, did you Spock?” He retreated now, stepping back to stand beside a bound and dazed Jim. “Didn’t know what a treasure” he brushed a hand through Jim’s limp golden hair making the human flinch, “you had found.” He sighed dramatically, “And lost so quickly.” Smirk returning, he ripped Jim’s head backward harshly exposing his delicate neck.

“I have heard many screams in my time Spock,” long fingers dragged across quivering skin, “Human, Andorian, Klingon, Vulcan. But never have I heard the scream of a Vulcan forced to watch their one true love,” he batted his eyelashes at Spock, “their soul mate, die before their very eyes.” Ayel stepped forward and presented his commander with a long three pronged blade that bit into the panting human’s skin. Spock fought like a wild thing, thrashing desperately against his captors, dark eyes focused intently on the man who was a threat to his beloved.

Uhura screamed at Spock in Vulcan. Words that promised retribution and revenge, words that Spock only barely managed to heed, subsiding back into the criminals’ hold. Nero’s expression was unchanged, hideous glee sparking in his deranged eyes.

“I think, perhaps, that is a sound I would like to hear.” With that he lifted the dagger; hoisting it high to plunge it into the tender throat of the exposed human below him, but a quiet statement pulled him up short. Spock’s voice was calm, utterly unconcerned with what was occurring around him and Nero’s rage flared as he took in the indifferent expression on the Vulcan’s face. Spock’s words, however, were anything but uncaring.

“You shall never have the chance.”

“What?!” Nero spun, dagger slicing through the air.

“You shall never have the chance to hear the scream of a Vulcan whose mate has been torn from them.” Spock’s eyes were dark and cool as Nero spread his arms and laughed.

“Uh, Spock, I appear to have an excellent opportunity to do that exact thing, right now. In fact, I think I’ll go back to killing your little captain.”

“No.” The word was quiet, but it seemed as if the entire ship turned, for a moment, to ice as Nero registered the contradictory statement.

“No?” His grip on the weapon was white-knuckled now.

“No,” Spock repeated, “but you will die screaming.” His gaze burned, “And I shall watch.”

Nero laughed with false bravado, shaken by the Vulcan’s assertion, but unwilling to show it before his crew. “Well Mister Spock, I think you’re bluffing!” The reply was immediate.

“Vulcans do not lie.”

The ship shook, tilting dangerously, sending all of its passengers stumbling and knocking the weak and bound Jim into a tumble down the steps. Spock used the unsteady footing to knock away his captors and launch himself across the deck to his battered T’hy’la. He gathered the unconscious Jim in his arms, protecting him from both people and debris sent flying by the rapidly rocking ship. Nero fell, attempted to rise, and fell again as he screamed for his crew members to capture the humans who tore themselves free to gather around the huddled pair. Uhura slammed her hand over an unremarkable pin on her jacket, activating the hastily designed and incredibly basic subspace communicator.

“Now Monty! We’ve got him! Beam us now!” Almost immediately their molecules began to disperse into flickering orbs and their former captors snatched and clawed at nothing but empty air.

For the first time in months the _Enterprise_ ’s transporter pad began to glow with the returning molecules of her senior staff, including one she hadn’t known was missing. Gracelessly they untangled themselves from each other, scrambling out of the way of a growling doctor who lead one silent Vulcan and the precious prize he carried, to sickbay at all but a run. The rest of the group scattered, knowing they would be needed elsewhere. Before they parted, one for the bridge and the other to engineering, Uhura threw her arms around Scotty and held on for as long as the brief seconds would allow.

“I know lass.” He whispered into her hair, both of them holding back tears. “I know.”

Already having reached the bridge, and panting heavily from their sudden sprint, Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, and Ensign Pavel Chekov worked frantically over their stations, fingers flying as they struggled to hold together a ship that was whole, but only just. As Nyota entered the bridge and strode purposefully to her own station she noticed that beneath their shared console a pair of feet with mismatching shoes, one wearing a dark boot and the other a vintage (though not technically so at the time it was purchased) red and white Converse.

The sight cut ever so briefly through the frantic stress of the moment and the smallest smile passed over her face. Command’s going to have a shit fit if….no when, when we get back. The bridge doors slid open breaking through her thoughts and Spock stepped up to the captain’s chair, not taking a seat, but remaining stiff beside it. His face was set in stone, emotionless, but that could mean any number of things and no one had the chance to ask or dwell as Uhura called out that Nero was hailing them.

“On screen.” Not a second later the snarling Romulan, face flushed green with rage, appeared before what was left of the Enterprise’s bridge crew.

“SPOCK! You will not deny me my victory!”

“Your…victory” a sliver of emotion peaked through he all but spat the word, “has already been denied. Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov have disabled your weapons systems while you were…preoccupied, and, if my calculations are correct, the last vestiges of the red matter left on your ship have begun reacting this very minute.” True to Spock’s word the _Narada_ trembled, this time without the impact of the Enterprise’s torpedoes. Spock stepped up to the viewscreen, his usually expressive eyes impassive as they held Nero’s. “May your katra burn for eternity in the halls of Bogozh.”

Nero screamed. First in rage and later in pain as his ship broke up from the inside out, but he never stopped, never seemed even to draw breath. The death of the Romulan crew of the mining ship _Narada_ was not a peaceful one and the wail of her commanding officer filled the _Enterprise_ until the silence, which descended once the forces of the cosmos had pulled the dark ship apart, rang sharply in the ears of humans and Vulcan alike, though Spock paid it no attention.

“Ensign Chekov.” The head of the seventeen-year-old in question popped up from where his eyes had been locked, unseeing, on the viewscreen and turned to his commander.

“Y…yes, Keptin?” His breathing was ragged, though the hand that clasped his own did calm it slightly.

“Confer with Mr. Scott as we discussed. Engage warp immediately once all calculations are inputted.”

“Yes sir.”

“Mr. Scott,” Spock stepped up beside the captain’s chair and called down to Engineering. “Has the transporting device on Earth been moved to a location at the appropriate distance from the civilian population?”

“Aye, sir. Transmitting coordinates. Also, Cap’n, I’ve got the engines running but if we don’t get moving I’ll nay be able to get them back in this century.” Translation: if they didn’t get out soon, they wouldn’t. With a glance to Chekov who returned a confirming nod as he finished inputting the last of the calculations, Spock checked the location and passed the coordinates along to Sulu’s station.

“Very well Mr. Scott. Mr. Sulu, destroy the transporter.”

Even in the daylight the flash that struck in a supposedly empty field near Riverside Iowa, the world’s largest lightning strike people would called it later as they marveled at the decimated land, was bright enough to momentarily blind old Jack Parker as he worked on his own farm several miles away. Blinking away spots as he tipped back his hat incredulously, Jack caught sight of his wife wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped down off the porch to stand beside him. For a moment they stared in silence before Christina laid her head on his shoulder and spoke.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Her voice was melancholy, but resigned and she sighed quietly as Jack wrapped his arm around her waist. Now Jack Parker was a simple man; hardly ignorant, but far from the dreamers his son and wife were. However, there were some things he just felt, deep in his bones and with no explanation, this was one of them.

“Yes,” he answered quietly pulling his wife into his side and clasping their hands so he could splay them both over her heart, “and no.”

The Enterprise shuddered into warp, rattling and clanging ominously as she gained speed, aimed straight toward the blazing yellow Sol. On steady feet despite the rocking deck beneath them, Spock exited the bridge confident in the abilities of those he left behind to get them home safely if even the smallest chance of doing so existed. The theory they were attempting to put into practice, the possibility of time travel through the extreme speed gained by using the gravity of the sun to propel them outward or as Mr. Scott had crudely put it, a sling shot, was an amazing scientific leap, especially if it succeeded, and Spock, the Enterprise’s most renowned scientist was running away.

There was no crew, no one to see as Starfleet’s most stoic, unruffled officer sprinted through the halls of the quaking ship, barreling down the most direct path possible to the sickbay. The automatic doors were almost too slow, scraping his shoulders as he burst through them. The only two occupants of Sickbay both had their backs to the door, but the back of one was tense as he tried to keep his balance and clean and heal the deep lacerations on the back of the other.

Letting some of his control drop, Spock staggered across the bay until he sank down into the chair (magnetically attached to the deck just like the many beds surrounding him) on the other side of Jim’s bio bed. His brilliant blue eyes were closed but his expression was peaceful despite the chaos around him. No doubt Dr. McCoy had administered a heavy duty sedative and painkiller as quickly as possible once Spock had finally set his injured human down. Spock reached out to take the limp hand of his beloved in his own just as klaxons began to sound, signaling a red alert throughout the entire ship due to the severe temperature spike on the ship’s hull. As they gained speed the ship’s shivering grew worse until McCoy activated the restraints on Jim’s biobed, all except those which would irritate his back, and collapsed onto a nearby chair himself.

Something shattered in the doctor’s office, medical instruments clattered to the floor, a chair was shaken loose from its magnetic coupling and skittered across the deck, but Spock comprehended none of it. His attention was focused completely on the man who lay before him. Even as a strange high-pitched whining pierced the air and the temperature inside the ship began to rise as the thermal protectors on the hull failed, Spock kept his gaze on Jim. Fighting the inertia of their forward movement Spock leaned down to press his forehead against Jim’s.

And then there was nothing.


	19. And Home at Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is finally done...finally. And this final chapter is dedicated to Jade_Letters who sent me the most wonderful review I have ever received on anything I have ever written anywhere (seriously though I got the email at 1AM and was crying as I read it) and gave me the kick in the ass I needed to actually look back at this and finish it. HUUUGE thank you to them and a thank you to every one who has read this and reviewed or left kudos or whatever.
> 
> Thank you one last time and I hope you like it.

The old Vulcan had become a common sight at Starfleet Headquarters. The new Vulcan colony required an ambassador to treat not only with Earth but with the entirety of the Federation and as such it would be necessary for that ambassador to spend long amounts of time away from the colony. With no true family amongst the survivors it was logical to offer up his service as ambassador; with a deep personal connection to planet Earth it was easy to do so. It had also not been difficult to read the relief on the faces of the council members when he had suggested himself for the post. Vulcans had always been a proud and private race, far more likely to retreat behind the shield of their traditions than allow themselves to appear weak in front of others, even those offering aid. This stubborn desire for privacy had the tendency to ignite a tightly suppressed, but not destroyed, xenophobic spark. Though there was no logic in denying any remaining Vulcans, with the ability to do so, the chance to further the species, it was clear that had he attempted to stay there would have been a great effort to give him no chance to do so.

The wind whipped across the open courtyard and all around him cadets rushed by, the chatter of their voices shifting through stages of laughter to suddenly become panic as they realized the true extent of their tardiness. Striding with purpose but no clear destination through the sea of red uniforms, the students parting around him out of cultural sensitivity and respect for his position, Spock’s eye caught the glint of reflected sunlight shining golden off the corner of some nearby structure. Not breaking his steady stride, Spock allowed his mind to drift, allowed the familiar memory to overtake him.

_Everything was golden. The sun, the corn, even the air around them seemed to glow. Iowa summer sunlight shone off his hair, greying but still golden, and sparkled in his shining golden eyes. He was smiling, wide and beautiful, laughing at something Spock could no longer remember, it was unimportant what had been said, where they had been going, he was there. It was warm, as he so rarely was on Earth, though that was due in part to the large human hand clasped in his. Jim was parting the corn before them, glancing back every once in a while, his eyes and mind full of love and joy and peace…_

The breeze turned chill, cutting through his traditional robes and forcing him to suppress a shiver. The courtyard had emptied as he had been lost in thought, a curious human phrase and largely appropriate for how a majority of his time was spent recently. Illogical as it may be, he had been returning to his memories, particularly that golden cornfield, more and more often. It was still painful, excruciatingly painful, but as the years passed the pain had become less overwhelming, had allowed him to concentrate on other things, the little details which brought him comfort. And he was an old Vulcan, an old Vulcan out of his time and space and deserving of a little comfort in the safety of his own mind. Especially on days like today.

His path had taken him to the edge of an amphitheater, set low into the ground and surrounded by tall stone pillars, creating an illusion of privacy for the assembly, and carved with many names. Far too many names. Everyone who had died, not only humans, not only cadets, every federation member who had given their lives to Nero’s lunatic intentions, who had given their lives because of Spock’s mistake, his failure. Looking down upon the gather cadets, their silence solemn and thick. A lone man, standing tall though he leaned heavily on a cane, stepped to the front and situated himself behind the black draped podium hung with the symbol of the Federation and the IDIC and began to speak. His voice was strong but even with the amplification technology in the podium no words reached Spock, only the deep rumble of his voice. Long weather fingers traced familiar letters on the stone beside him. One of his requests when he had been consulted on the building of this memorial had been the inclusion of this particular name, in this particular spot, hidden in plain sight, one of far too many, but within easy reach. Spock looked down at the assembly, eyes catching once more on the man in front. They were so similar, so strangely similar, his fingers caught on the hand-carved grooves beneath them, but not the same.

_The sudden flash of warning lights and shrill ring of klaxons startled the group of admirals and ambassadors assembled at a long grey table. The Fleet Admiral stood, slamming a hand down on the table in frustration as he stalked to the door._

_“What the devil is going on? We are not to be interrupted except…” The exact circumstances of an acceptable interruption were left unidentified as a junior officer hurried through the door of the conference room. Her footsteps were rushed but her voice and face were covered by a well-trained veneer of calm._

_Admiral Barnett, Sir!”_

_“Yes, what is it? Report!”_

_“Scanners reported a ship just appearing in orbit around Earth.”_

_Appearing? What are you talking about? We have defenses ships can’t just appear.”_

_Sir…Sir!” She interrupted, and Spock noticed that her PADD was clutched close to her chest, perhaps not a calm as she was attempting to appear._

_“Sir, it’s the Enterprise.”_

_Spock didn’t even remember getting to the shuttle bay. He must have run; not enough time had passed for him to have completed the trip with any sort of dignity, but he didn’t care. The shuttle was docking, medics crowded around it, and it was so quiet. Medical personnel rushed back and forth speaking rapidly into their comms, but Spock couldn’t hear a word. The sound of the shuttle docking echoed in his ears, the thud of the lowering ramp was a thundering boom, and then he was there. He was lying on a floating bio bed wrapped in tubes and wires hooked to so many machines some beeping rapidly, some frighteningly slowly, but he was alive, he was here, and his eyes were blue._

_They locked gazes across the crowded shuttle bay…Jim’s eyes were blue…he could feel the pulse of a bond, the bond, long broken at the back of his mind but…Jim’s eyes were blue…that was impossible. And besides this wasn’t his Jim…Jim’s eyes were blue…this was a different person. This was his counterpart’s Jim, the Jim of the Vulcan who was woozily fighting off medics in his struggle to get to the bio bed, this Jim had blue eyes…and his eyes were closing. Both Spocks froze as there was a sustained beep from one of the machines, then the younger Spock screamed falling to his knees hands clutched around his head._

Admiral Pike’s voice faded away to the hush of subdued applause and Spock’s fingers brushed once more over the stone feeling the heat left by his own hand before curling back to his side, hidden within the folds of his robe. The admiral had stepped away from the podium and the assembly was slowly dispersing below. A warm hand rested on his shoulder, another memory, another sensation from his past to bring him comfort.

“Hey, old man.”

 

 

It was weird being here, in the future. Although it was technically the present, his present, he should’ve grown up with all this. And wasn’t that just a bit of a mindfuck. Four years ago he’d literally been living in the past and now…now he had a partner, a _bondmate_ , who was an alien, as well as an older version of his _bondmate_ from another universe, and he was on the fast track to becoming the captain of his own spaceship. Yeah even four years into it Jim sometimes needed a minute to sit back and process it all. Repressing a sigh he held out two fingers between himself and Spock, an acceptable public display of affection, and felt a small surge of relief when Spock’s fingers connected with his. Their minds slid together entwined but not intermingled, never and always touching and touched. The bonding ceremony had been interesting to say the least, and while he enjoyed the ability to have low level contact with Spock’s consciousness at all times sometimes it was just nicer to have a deeper connection. And sometimes it was nice to hold his husband’s hand, or as close to that as he could get in public.

“Jim are you well? Your emotions appear to be fluctuating.” They had entered their apartment building and Spock was more comfortable with human style handholding in less public areas such as this one so he wrapped his fingers around Jim’s human ones, pressing their palms together.

“I’m fine Spock, just a little nervous about the test tomorrow.” Now that he had made the statement Jim’s consciousness did in fact light up with the colors Spock had come to associate with anxiety, but he was still unconvinced as to the truthfulness of Jim’s statement.

“Very well. But there is no reason for you to be anxious. You have advanced quickly, impressively in fact, through the necessary prerequisites and you have studied and practiced rigorously in order to be prepared for this examination. The logical culmination of these facts is not only a passing grade on your simulation tomorrow but also the security of your position as top of your class.” Jim’s mind lit up with love and the flush of appreciation for Spock’s faith and pride in him.

“Thanks Spock. That means a lot to me.” He leaned up to press a kiss to one sharp cheekbone as they ascended the stairs to their apartment. “I love you.”

“And I you Jim. You are welcome.” He leaned down to whisper in the human’s ear, lips brushing that exotically rounded edge. “And if at any point you should decide to reveal what had truly upset you, I shall always be willing to listen.”

 

 

The test went perfectly, better than even Spock had predicted in the end, though it certainly hadn’t appeared that way at the time. A commendation for original thinking was hardly the usual reaction to what could, technically, be considered cheating, but it was certainly better than a court martial. And all the suspense of having every cadet summoned before the admirals and definitely been worth the look on Bones’ face as Jim walked down the aisle. He was still gloating as they exited the auditorium turning his ecstatic energy towards tormenting Bones instead of leaping on top of Spock like he most definitely would’ve preferred. As a result of this Admiral Pike arrived just in time to see Jim’s tongue disappear back between his lips under a tirade of Georgia inspired insults.

“I see that Starfleet’s best and brightest are certainly living up to their name.” Bones huffed and looked away, appearing ever so slightly chastised, but Jim snapped an uncharacteristically sharp salute, some managing to make even that sarcastic.

“Admiral Pike, Sir!” Chris snorted. Four years ago he’d been confronted with the ghost of one of his dearest friends, but it had become rapidly clear that no matter what people expected or thought, Jim Kirk was going to be his own person and he was going to take the world by storm.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on brat, walk with me, I want to talk to you.” Jim smiled in response and nodded, dropping his salute.

“I’ll see you at home.” He said giving Spock a quick Vulcan kiss, the human equivalent of a peck on the cheek, before falling into step beside Admiral Pike.

It was late when Jim finally returned, but Spock was still awake, sitting on the couch in their living room with one of Jim’s precious books held delicately on his lap. He stood quickly when Jim entered, placing the delicate antique carefully on the coffee table. His human’s eyes were wide and his breathing heavy, but he appeared not to be under the influence of any excessive amounts of alcohol, which implied that he had spent the entirety of his time with Admiral Pike. The door slid shut behind him and he all but stumbled into Spock’s strong grasp.

“Jim, Jim! Are you well? Should I summon Doctor McCoy? Ashaya?” Jim waved his concerns away but did not attempt to break Spock’s grip as he steered them both to the couch.

“I’m fine Spock. I promise, I’m physically fine, just a little overwhelmed. They uh…they…” he took a deep breath,…“They gave me the _Enterprise_ ”. He laughed weakly. “The flagship, the most powerful ship in the fleet, and they gave it to _me_.” The broken a battered ship, much like her future captain, had spent a very long time undergoing repairs in order to be restored to peak condition. Unlike her captain, however, the ship had been highly upgraded in the years since their return. These upgrades had been one of the many things he had spent his meeting discussing. That and the veritable mountain of paperwork, technically digital, necessary to make everything official, had made him later than desired in returning to Spock.

“I am not surprised.” Came the reply to his choked out statement. Jim laughed and pressed his face into the fabric of Spock’s shirt, enjoying the feeling of long fingers as they reached up and began to stroke through his hair.

“Really Spock, and why exactly is it that you are not surprised?” He was teasing, which Spock had long learned to differentiate from regular human speech and even sometimes enjoy.

“There was no other logical conclusion, particularly considering your background and your interesting solution to your final exam”. Jim laughed and smiled again before snuggling deeper into Spock’s side.

“Would it be correct to assume that you have resolved the cause of earlier emotional distress?”

“Definitely, definitely Spock. I just…sometimes I still feel out of place here, as if I don’t belong.” The Vulcan’s grip tightened minutely around him. “But this, this feels right.”

“Although it is distressing to me that you should ever feel that you do not belong, I am pleased, Jim, that your distress has been resolved.”

“Me too, Spock.” The sat together in comfortable silence as Jim worked up the nerve to get out what he wanted to say and Spock allowed him the time to gather his thoughts. Finally Jim couldn’t stand it anymore and just blurted it out.

“I told them I’d only do it if you were my first officer.” The hand in his hair paused only to resume several seconds later as Spock shifted them both to a more comfortable position.

“I would be honored, Captain.”

 

 

“Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

“Hey old man!” Jim’s exuberance was intoxicating, infusing the entire bridge as he leapt curiously from station to station. Selek smiled though it was still somewhat of a shock to be back on this ship, to see Jim lounge carelessly in the Captain’s Chair. In four years they had met many times, and formed a friendship which would never fade or die and though Selek loved him, would always love James Kirk no matter what universe he originated from, it was clear to him, body and mind, that Jim was not _his_ bondmate. Jim was so young now, younger than Spock had ever known him, and his eyes, it was unlikely that their startling color would ever cease to give him pause, but his smile that was no different. Still full of mischief and laughter and only for Spock.

“Come to see us off?” Jim asked, still smiling that smile, Spock’s smile.

“Of course,” the Vulcan responded, “I could not resist the opportunity to see you take your rightful place as Captain of the _Enterprise_.” Everything was falling into place, just as it should be; Mr. Scott in Engineering, he had been manning the transporter when Spock beamed aboard, Chekov, Sulu, and Lieutenant Uhura in their proper places on the bridge, and Dr. McCoy no doubt in sickbay muttering to himself about everything that could and would go wrong. Only one thing was missing, but that was remedied as his counterpart stepped out of the turbolift and took his place at the captain’s right shoulder.

“Mr. Spock.”

“Ambassador.” Their shared head incline was a source of amusement for Jim, and today was no different as he snorted quietly. Selek couldn’t help the smile, smaller than before but visible enough to be seen by his counterpart and Jim, that seemed programmed to appear anytime Jim did something even vaguely worthy of it.

“I shall return to the docking platform in order to view your departure. Thank you for the tour, however brief it may have been.”

“Oh I’m sure the hallway from the transporter room, the turbolift, and the bridge made for a _comprehensive_ tour. There definitely can’t be anything on this ship that you didn’t see in that five minute walk.” Jim’s sarcastic smirk fell away leaving his expression still playful but more serious. “Come with us, for a little while at least, old man. One last run around the galaxy?”

“As tempting as your offer may be it is as you seem intent on reminding me.” Jim’s eyebrows furrowed. “I am an old man.” He smiled one last time at Jim’s bubbling laughter and lifted his hand into the shape of the Ta’al, turning to include Spock in the gesture as well. “Live long and prosper.”

Selek refused any offer of accompaniment or assistance to the transporter room and soon the transporter tech, Scotty had obviously decided that there were more important things which required his attention, was calling up to announce that all unnecessary personnel or visitors had been beamed aboard the station and they were clear for departure. Jim leaned forward in his chair, the _captain’s_ chair, and clasped the edges of his armrests.

“Course heading Keptin?” Chekov asked, spinning around in his chair. Jim thought for a moment knowing the navigator already their official coordinates inputted into the system.

“Second star to the right,” he decided, “and straight on ‘til morning.” Sulu shook his head, and was no doubt rolling his eyes, but Chekov returned an enthusiastic “Aye, aye Keptin!” and whirled back around.

“Alright,” Jim continued, a thrill running through him as Spock’s fingers brushed against his own, “let’s see what she can do.”


End file.
